


Ne'er Say We Die

by DemonQueen666



Series: Folkin' Around verse [5]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: AU for Avengers, Alcohol, Blind Prophet, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugged Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Interplanetary Travel, Love Triangle, Magic, Marriage At Sea, Mermaids, Mythology In-Jokes, Nautical Swearing, Noodle Incidents, Pirates, Sea Monsters, Slavery, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 100,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonQueen666/pseuds/DemonQueen666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Darcy Lewis will say to her friends, “Remember that time we were pirates?” When she does, this is the story she will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hispaniola

To think that it all began with the asking of a question.

Not an entirely simple question, but a straightforward enough one. The weight it carried was only that endowed by the eagerness of Jane’s scientific curiosity.

To say that Jane, in the midst of what she believed was uncovering something new in her work, had a _driven_ personality was to give too much of a slight. She seemed an ordinary enough mortal woman but when it came to inquiry and discovery a fire burned within her. The Asgardians had learned to recognize it, to give her what she wanted and stay out of her way, as they looked on in curious admiration from afar.

Any puzzlement they once had over their prince’s infatuation of her, lovely but human, had faded, once they’d come to know what she was within. They spoke of her with respect, a wizard of the strange magic known as ‘physics’.

Her reputation preceded her. Though, just this once, if Jane had possibly known what would come of her actions, the trouble it would cause for her friend Darcy, maybe she would’ve stopped herself from asking the question.

Then again…maybe not.

She and Thor were that afternoon down by the far end of the rainbow bridge outside of Asgard’s capitol, where a splintered and scarred end petered off into black and open space.

A short distance from the edge, her fixation in the search for information doing wonders to counter her vertigo, Jane knelt and examined the energies being given off by the structure with a piece of equipment she’d brought from home.

Thor stood a few feet back, enough not to be in her way. He did an admirable job of staying silent as he watched her with a smile – for he thought she was just about never more lovely than when she was caught up like this, her eyes seeming to shine brighter with an excited fury.

Heimdall held his post at the space that once had held the Bifrost, never blinking or shifting from his upright pose, sword in hands, and gave no outward sign he was bothered by or had even noticed the mortal’s presence.

Jane finished reading off the output. “I’ll have to take these numbers back to the lab, to analyze them more fully.”

But even as she made her statement and got to her feet, she was frowning and shaking her head.

Thor noticed, and stepped closer. “Is something wrong?”

She opened her mouth, lips already forming the word ‘no’, and then stopped. She sighed. “This is taking so long, Thor.” She turned to look up at him. “Not that I don’t thoroughly appreciate all the help that you and the other Asgardians have had to offer, but even after all the months of analyzing things from this end, I feel like I’m getting nowhere.”

“You successfully recreated the effect of your own Bifrost,” Thor exclaimed, “a feat that none would have thought possible, mortal or otherwise.” He reached to touch one side of her face with his broad palm. “You should be proud.”

Jane placed her hand on top of his hand, distracted for a moment. But she shook her head again.

“That was a while ago. And my version of the Bifrost is hardly perfect,” she reminded him. What she had built relied too heavily on natural weather patterns for an energy source – even with a bit of luck, it could sometimes take weeks after one generation to create another, during which time any would-be travelers would be stuck on one side. “If you’re ever going to be able to freely come and go as you please, I need to figure out how the original was powered.”

“What you have gathered here today is not enough?”

“Not really.” Despite herself Jane’s exasperation was beginning to show through in her voice. She hated being up against a dead-end like this, when all the effort and calculations in the world couldn’t seem to do anything. It was just so frustrating. “The Bifrost itself was completely destroyed – all I have to go on are these…ghostly traces of residual energy it left behind. It’s just not enough to build a working theory on!”

Thor moved his hands to her shoulders, embracing her lightly in a vain hope to try and calm her down. Jane kept speaking, gesturing.

“What I really needed was a chance to study the event while it was happening: a trans-dimensional bridge _in action_ , not what’s left over after the fact.” She exhaled heavily. Closing her eyes she rested her cheek against Thor’s chest. “But with the Bifrost your people built gone, of course that’s impossible.”

They only had a moment to get comfortable against one another, before suddenly Heimdall spoke.

“This gateway may be gone, but there is another.”

There was a beat. And then swiftly Jane opened her eyes again, pulling back from Thor so that she could peer past him, sharply, at Heimdall.

“What?” she demanded.

The great guardian stared straight ahead, not looking at Jane even though it was clear it was to her that he spoke.

“The Bifrost built by the great ancestors of Asgard is long gone, its secrets all but lost to us. But the people of Nornheim have something of their own that is very similar.”

“Nornheim?” Jane’s hands still rested against Thor, his on her shoulders; she looked back at him, seeking an explanation. “That’s what – another of the nine realms?”

“After a fashion,” Thor answered, seeming bemused by Heimdall’s offering of information, thoughtful. “Though their world is far closer to ours than any other. We have always been able to journey there across land rather than by using the Bifrost.”

“So you go there often?”

“Not…that often.” Thor’s face became stern, mouth set in a line. “Nornheim is ruled over by the Norns, a sisterhood of enchantresses. Things between our worlds are diplomatic, civil, but not entirely friendly. Most of my travels there were in my youth, in search of adventure.”

Jane twisted in his grasp, looking questioningly back to Heimdall. “But they have a Bifrost?”

“They have their own way of walking the path between other worlds,” Heimdall corrected, flatly. “It is not the Bifrost. It was not built by the same architects. But the way it functions is much the same.”

Jane’s expression was purpose-driven. “Do you think they would let me look at it?”

The golden eyes at last moved to look at her. “That, you would have to ask them,” he informed her, simply.

Jane spun back to Thor, excited. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” She rambled on, not giving him at first a chance to speak. “If I can have a chance to study a real, working device that embodies all the principles of an Einstein-Rosenberg bridge, that might provide the clue that I _need_ , to get what I’ve invented finally working!”

Thor gazed down at her, smiling faintly. “If this is what you desire Jane then I will do what I must to make it so.”

He grasped her shoulders firmly, bending so that he looked her straight in the eyes, taking in her grinning face as he swore, “We will ride to Nornheim. The Norns should open their gates to us. And there we will hopefully find the answers that you seek.”

“Your highness,” Heimdall spoke again, causing Thor to glance back in his direction just as they’d been preparing to leave.

“What is it, Heimdall?”

His great helmeted head turned, staring down at Thor with serious weight. “The Norns are not renowned for their trickery. But they are a long-lived race, full of knowledge and easily bored. They offer freely but often give only at a secret price.” There was a pause as if he was waiting for those words to sink in before adding, “My advice to you is to take your brother along.”

Thor blinked a few times, puzzled. But he responded, “If that is your counsel, wise Heimdall, then I shall take heed of it. My thanks.” He bowed then reached out to take Jane by the hand. “Jane, come. We shall go back home, to gather ourselves quickly for our journey.”

She let him pull her in easily, wrapping arms around his midsection to hang on as he used Mjolnir to fly them away.

*

As soon as they got back to the palace Thor began giving orders grandly, sending servants and guards running to gather horses and outfit them and send word to the king and queen they were leaving.

Jane stood off to the side, arms folded, smiling faintly. Watching Thor in his element was always interesting. And it was obvious from his behavior and everyone else’s that this sort of thing was commonplace – him venturing off at the drop of a hat, for some unspecified amount of time in search of a new adventure.

She wondered if it was common for everyone on Asgard, or just Thor and his friends.

“What ho! Thor, what is all this?”

Jane’s head shot up at the voice, startled. As if summoned by her thought of them, Thor’s group of warrior companions had appeared, Fandral bringing up the head with Volstagg, Sif and Hogun close behind. They looked about, taking in the preparations.

Fandral continued, astute, “It looks as if you’re about to partake in some quest!”

“And without inviting us?” Sif demanded, head swinging towards Thor, her expression cheeky.

Volstagg gave an amused huff. “Can’t be going all that long,” he observed. “Not bringing much in the way of rations.” Moving to one of the saddlebags he removed an apple and took a bite.

“Fear not, my friends,” Thor assured them with a boisterous chuckle. “I go only to escort my lady Jane to the household of the Norns. She wishes to make observation of some of their magic.”

“They have an inter-dimensional gateway,” Jane put in quickly, explaining. “Something that might be similar to the Bifrost. I just want to look at it, study it a little. Maybe ask some questions…”

“But is not sallying forth in search of answers, even minor ones, the very picture of a quest?” Fandral exclaimed.  He gestured grandly at Thor, with a flourish. “Of course it would be only our greatest pleasure to accompany you.”

“It has been far too quiet around here, now that you do most of your battles elsewhere,” Hogun put in, more frankly. “We could use a break from the boredom.”

Thor nodded, still beaming, unhesitant. “Well of course if the four of you wish to join us, you are welcome.” He winked at Fandral and stepped forward to clap Hogun on the shoulder. “Sadly, I cannot promise much in the way of excitement, but we will do what we can.”

Jane barely fought back a groan. This wasn’t at all what she’d had in mind. She liked Thor’s friends well enough but it was hardly going to be a quick scientific journey with all of them tagging along.

Even though it was probably too late, she tried to undo the damage; “Actually,” she said, “I think the plan originally was only to take Loki along…”

She realized immediately that she’d made a mistake. At the mention of Loki’s name a stiff tremor went through the four, though the men endeavored to hide it.

Sif did not. There was a cool hardness in her eyes as she declared, brusquely, “If Loki is going with Thor, then so are we.” Her tone left no room for argument.

“We can’t let him have all the fun,” Volstagg added more lightly, trying to defuse Sif’s angry if unspoken accusation.

The implication was clear however. None of them fully trusted Loki, especially not to be left alone with his brother, and no one guarding Thor’s back.

Jane’s feelings on the matter were torn. Her first introduction to Loki had been under unfavorable circumstances. Her attitude towards him was doubtful and never entirely warm. But she tried to be understanding of how strongly Thor was attached to his brother.

And her heart always sank a little in sympathy she couldn’t help feeling, whenever she witnessed the circle left open between Loki and the rest of Asgard; cold and suspicious and disapproving.

If Thor noticed the way his friends were acting right then, however, he did a good job of hiding it.

“The five of us, partaking on a journey together,” he stated merrily. “Truly, it will be just like old times!” He glanced towards Jane and his expression took on a softer kind of happiness. “Except that Jane will there, to make it all the more pleasant.”

Jane returned his smile as best she could, though the feeling in her gut told her they were already off to a bad start.

They were all startled by a sudden high-pitched sound, like the frantic bleating of a goat. Though it wasn’t a goat that bolted into the room then but a small unicorn, not quite waist-high, with a brown and white speckled hide. It ran on spindly but still obviously functional legs, darting around the room in circles, trailing a golden leash.

“Unicorn on the loose! Look out below! Gangway!”

Darcy appeared in the doorway, her breath huffing slightly from exertion, holding up the skirt of the Asgardian dress she was wearing awkwardly with both hands.

“Sorry guys,” she offered. “He got away from me again.” Craning her head in the direction her pet had gone she whistled. “Bad Spot! Come here, boy.”

“Save your breath, Darcy.” Loki slid in behind her, hands going briefly to her shoulders as if she needed steadying balance. “I’ll collect him.”

Fandral shot up quickly. “Oh no, no – my fair lady, allow _me_.” He beamed in Darcy’s direction and unfastened his cape. He waved it like a bullfighter, apparently planning to toss it over the wayward unicorn like a net.

Loki gave him a withering, annoyed look. It was all for naught though: once it calmed down, the unicorn wandered straight to Volstagg, wanting a bite of the apple still in his hand. With his free arm he scooped it up easily, laughing.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he had to remark.

“Oh. Well done, Volstagg,” Fandral managed offhandedly, though he was still embroiled in a slight staring contest with Loki.

From where she stood Jane could see the younger prince’s throat work as he swallowed dryly. His gaze slid sideways to fix purposefully on his brother.

“You sent for me?” he asked, as if Thor was the only one in the room.

“Aye, yes.” Thor nodded to him. “We’re going to the Norns. Heimdall recommended that you come along. It seems that once again there is fear that without you I will manage to get myself into too much trouble!”

Thor made the joke easily, carefree, and Loki forced a smile that seemed genuine so long as one didn’t look too closely at his eyes.

“Of course, if that’s what you want. I’ll accompany you, brother. It would be my pleasure.”

Sif strode forward, arms swinging, shoulders squared. “I will be _all_ our pleasures.” Her voice had a note of a challenge.

Loki’s posture grew even stiller as he met Sif’s hostile stare. “Oh – you’re coming too?” It was both a question and not. “How wonderful.”

“Isn’t it just?” Thor swung arms around their shoulders companionably, causing each to stumble with the sudden weight before quickly recovering. But there was a fierceness to Thor’s smile this time that suggested he was not entirely clueless.

“Peace, the two of you,” he said in a tone that sounded very much like an order, glancing between them. “Remember that we are all friends here.”

Loki gave a smile that was more of a smirk, shrewd and mirthless. “If you say.”

Sif was slower to respond as she slipped Thor’s grasp, nostrils flaring. She nodded once, hard. “Of course.”

“You guys are going somewhere?”

Everyone else’s heads turned as Darcy spoke. In all of the tension, they’d as good as forgotten she was there.

Darcy stood on her tiptoes, straining to take them and the room and the gathered supplies all in. Spot nuzzled against her leg, chewing her dress, and with one hand she sloppily carded fingers through his mane.

She blinked hopefully. “Can I come too?”

Loki opened his mouth: “That might not be such a good idea-”

He was drowned out by Thor and Fandral declaring as one, “Of course you can!”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders dropping, and this time she did let out a heavy sigh.

Great; now it had somehow become a field trip.

Opening her eyes she addressed Darcy, sternly. “The unicorn _isn’t_ coming along.”

*

Jane had never before in her life ridden a horse.

She supposed it was a thing every little girl was thought to have accomplished at least once before growing up, but somehow, she missed out on that one.

Not in much of a hurry to start learning now, she’d been more than willing to agree to ride as Thor’s passenger. She sat in front and held the saddle horn for balance between her hands, back pressed securely to Thor’s chest, his body warm even through a layer of clothing and armor. His arms went around her as he held the reins in a clearly practiced manner, not having any difficulty keeping a view of what was ahead past her tiny frame.

Darcy had ended up paired off with Sif, possibly to keep Loki and Fandral from slowing everybody down with another staring match. She balked at the idea of sitting in front of the other woman though, the balancing act implied too much for her to handle, and instead insisted on “riding bitch”.

The mare carrying the two women trailed close behind Thor and Jane. If she turned her head and looked under Thor’s elbow, Jane could make out partial glimpses of them and the rest of the pack.

“Are you doing all right there, Darcy?” Fandral asked her good-naturedly, bringing his horse almost alongside theirs.

Darcy nodded, comfortable with her arms wrapped around Sif’s waist, though she kept shifting her body below the hips slightly.

“Yeah,” she told him, perfectly carefree “It’s just been a long time since I’ve had something this big between my legs.”

Sif didn’t bat an eye but Fandral started so hard that the reins went taut in his hands, his horse mistaking it for a signal to stop. Loki vaulted past him on his sleek black mount, laughing openly.

It took a few hours but they made it to the border of Nornheim without incident. Instead of any kind of obvious tower or gate or wall, the marker was a sheer wall of a cliff’s side that stretched on far as they eye could see.

Directly before them was a shimmering waterfall that came from overhead. But at the bottom where it should have hit the ground or run into a lagoon, it disappeared inside a small cloud of mist.

“There is the entrance,” Thor proclaimed for Jane and Darcy’s benefit. Jane looked around but couldn’t see anything besides the waterfall itself. “Here we will dismount.”

Some of the horses were starting to shy and twitch anyway, as if something bothered them. Even if they’d been allowed they probably would have ventured no further. After tying the animals off to ensure they’d stay, the group walked the rest of the way forward.

The waterfall echoed with a proud roar, but Jane frowned as she realized something was wrong. She had been to Niagara Falls before – underneath it you couldn’t even hear yourself think. The sound should have been much louder.

“Is the way clear, brother?” Thor asked.

Loki stepped forward, Jane all but losing sight of him completely in the mist. He was eyeing with scrutiny something she couldn’t see. At last he stuck his hand through the curtain of water, seeming unaffected by its touch or force.

He nodded. “After you?” he offered with a thin smile.

Thor grasped Jane’s hand and she let him take it automatically, not sure what to expect as he led her forward. The closer she got to the waterfall the more that she noticed. The air wasn’t cold enough. She couldn’t smell any moisture.

Jane took a deep breath but was only mildly surprised when they walked through where the waterfall should have been, and she felt nothing. It was an illusion.

The instant they passed it everything turned black and deathly silent. For a moment Jane couldn’t even hear herself breathe, and she was overcome by the sensation as if she floated in a void of space. She could feel Thor’s hand in hers and nothing more. Reflexively she clung to it tighter.

A strange shudder went through her entire body, and then they were walking forward into a circular room the color of iron, and there was light and sound again.

Thor led her off to one side, holding her upright as she touched her forehead dizzily, wordlessly asking her if she was alright. There was a fluttering sound as one by one the others appeared behind them.

“That was intense,” Darcy remarked aloud. “Like hopping on an express ride to Narnia.”

“There you are all,” a melodic voice noted, cheerily. Jane turned her head to realize they weren’t alone.

At the opposite end to the chamber, her back against an open door, was a woman with flowing yellow hair. Her ornate and loose robes wouldn’t have been out of place on Asgard, though she was probably too short and slight to fit in entirely among their people.

She bowed her head to the visitors, smiling.

“If you’ll follow me? Queen Karnilla has been expecting you.” As she turned to go, seeming to assume they’d follow, she continued, perfectly nonchalant, “You were supposed to have arrived several minutes ago.”

In the beat that followed her exit, Darcy broke the silence by saying, “Any chance you think that was just to freak us out?”

Jane exchanged a glance with her friend, brow furrowed, and tried to remember what Norse mythology she’d absorbed in the little time she had to spend on it. “The Norns are supposed to be able to see into the future, right?”

“They are said to have gifts of prophecy,” Sif explained. She sounded briefly irritated. “Though good luck getting any of them to tell you your fortune. They take on a vow of strictest secrecy.”

“Many a warrior of Asgard has ridden to the Norns seeking a glimpse at his fate,” Loki chimed in, quiet. “Most have ridden back with nothing to show for it.”

“You’ve stolen from the Norns before, though, haven’t you Loki?” Volstagg asked him, somewhat curtly. “At least that’s what the rumors say.”

Loki turned to favor him with a sour, dark grin. For a moment Jane felt a chill up her spine, wondering that a younger Loki might have seen his own future. With everything that was to happen, what could he have possibly glimpsed at?

“I have stolen _things_ from them. Magic,” Loki informed them coolly. “Not information.” His eyes slid away, absent. “Even I was never quite so talented.”

Out of all the people that could have spoken next Jane was surprised it was Fandral. He laughed.

“What you’d need to be talented at in this case is earning the favor of women,” he suggested. He gave Loki a friendly enough pat on the shoulder as he walked by him – Loki turned to stare at the spot where Fandral had touched – as with his other hand he reflexively tousled his hair and smoothed his mustache. He squinted at the wall, endeavoring to see his reflection. “Something at which I have the most experience. Come along!”

Fandral practically bounded out of the room, as if eager to get on with seducing every Norn in sight. The others followed behind in varying states of amusement.

Jane had expected to be led into a throne room, but that didn’t appear to be where they ended up. At least it wasn’t at all like the one on Asgard, or any throne room she had ever seen or could imagine.

It was the inside of a cavern, the room built directly into the rock. At uneven intervals the natural surface was broken by large metallic circles that had been set into the stone, all over the wall, floors and even the ceiling, and every one wider across than the height of a man. The metal was covered by strange letters and patterns.

At the center of a room was a tall, robust woman with long wavy chestnut hair. In one hand she held a staff and there was a thin crown on her head.

Thor and the other Asgardians made to bow, and Jane and Darcy followed their leads with the best curtseys they could manage.

“Queen Karnilla. Thank you for your hospitality,” Thor intoned. “We come to your realm on a peaceful mission, in search of answers to questions posed by our mortal guests. We hope that you will oblige.”

“I know why you come here, prince.” Karnilla’s voice was stately and musical, with a lilting accent. She smiled at them serenely. “And it is only my pleasure to indulge your friend’s curiosity.” She waved a hand grandly, indicating the room around them.

“Look, Jane Foster. In this room is all that you seek. Look, and uncover at your leisure.”

Some of the color drained from Jane’s face at being addressed directly, her name already known, but it came rushing back as she took in what the Norn queen was saying to her. She shot to her feet, turning slowly as she took in the room.

“You mean…all these portals…?”

Karnilla nodded. “Gateways to another realm.” She shook her staff meaningfully – Jane noticed an object hung from the end of it, strange and complicated, like a thin metal puzzle. “This is the key that can be used to open any of them.”

Jane took a step, hesitated, and then rushed forward to examine the nearest circle, silver and set in the wall just above the level of her head. She ran fingers gingerly around the edge as she stared at it. The symbols didn’t appear to be the ones the Asgardians used, but some of them could be equations. Pulling a notepad and pen out of her jacket pocket she jotted them down, moving from one circle to the next as she tried to see if they had any patterns in common.

The rest of the group spread out, milling around the room. Thor remained close by her side but the others wandered.

“So,” Darcy observed, slowly, head tilting way back as she looked at the ceiling, “I’m noticing that there are _way_ more than nine of these things.”

“Nine realms only refer to the major ones. The most expansive and explored,” Loki told her. He trailed close in her footsteps, following without making it too apparent. “There are, indeed, far more than that.”

He stopped where he stood, head turning.

“When the universe was formed, the fire of creation met the absolute cold of an abyss of nothingness. What was melded in the center mostly cracked into nine even pieces, but other worlds bubbled up in between. The unnamed realms.”

“Yes, what I wouldn’t give to set foot in one of _those_ ,” Fandral murmured exuberantly. “Uncharted territory. Now wouldn’t that be a lark! We never managed that even in the old days in all our wanderings.”

Karnilla smiled at him slowly from beneath her eyelashes.

“Is that what you would like? Is that what you desire?” she asked him. Her voice was pleasant, words carefully formed. “I would supply you with anything of all these worlds have to offer. You have but to ask.”

Something about her tone seemed to alarm Loki. He stilled, eyes flashing, and then he quickly turned to head in Fandral’s direction. His mouth was open in warning, one hand upraised to reach for the other warrior’s shoulder.

But Fandral had his back to him and noticed not at all.

“What I desire?” he repeated, cheerful but musing, clearly not taking Karnilla’s words as serious. “Good lady, that could be said to be many things,” he said to her with meaning, chortling. “But what I desire most these days, is _adventure_. I crave for it. I miss it so.”

Volstagg nodded enthusiastically. “Hear, hear!”

Karnilla smirked. Behind them, Loki had stopped in his tracks, eyes closed with a wince and a silent groan.

“So you seek to find adventure,” Karnilla stated.

“Yes,” Volstagg began – too late he saw the look on her face, and grew apprehensive. He tried backpedalling. “Er. I mean, no-”

Still smirking, Karnilla raised a hand with the object she had referred to as a key hanging from her palm. By some unseen mechanism the pieces turned. There was an audible click.

Loki moved to accost Fandral. “You great _fool_ -!”

Fandral returned in affront, “Well now, hang on just a moment-!”

A short distance away from them, Darcy stood, unknowingly putting her back to a metal circle in the floor beside her feet. It flew open and a violent gust of air sucked her in. She tumbled backwards with a shriek, trying unsuccessfully to catch herself.

Both men ran to her in alarm. Bending down Fandral managed to grab one arm, Loki the other. Darcy clung for dear life as she hung over what seemed empty space.

“It’s alright, we’ve got you,” Loki tried to assure her, breathless.

“Hang on, Darcy,” Fandral exclaimed.

Darcy struggled to reply, frightened and having great physical difficulty. “I…” Her white fingers were slipping, the weight of her body dragged at by invisible winds. “I _can’t!_ ” she cried, just as she lost grip on them both.

She vanished from sight down the spinning dark hole. Loki was frozen, hands still outstretched, his face bloodless.

Fandral reacted very differently. Without a pause for thought he stepped back, enough room to give himself a running start as he dove in, headfirst.

Sif, Hogun and Volstagg stood close nearby, staring at what had happened. At the still open portal where both Darcy and Fandral had gone, that Loki now gaped at, doubly speechless.

Volstagg snapped out of it first. A conclusion seemed to come over his face. Hefting axe in both hands he gave a strange, amused chuckle. Striding over to the portal he jumped into it himself.

There was a beat, and then both Hogun and Sif turned to exchange a knowing, exasperated roll of the eyes.

Sif readied her glaive and went first, Hogun hanging back to check his own weaponry. By this time Thor and Jane rushed over, having finally noticed what was happening.

“What’s going on?” Jane demanded, alarmed.

“Where are you are all heading off to?” Thor asked in bemusement.

Hogun gave him a dry look. “Adventure, apparently,” he remarked. And then he too turned to follow into the portal after his fellows.

At that explanation Thor’s face broke into a wide, excited grin. “Excellent!” He started forward, but Jane quickly moved in front of him, holding up both hands to stop him as she got in his way.

“Thor, wait! We have no idea where they’ve been sent to, where they’re going or how long they’ll be gone. I really don’t think it’s a good idea to jump into this blind. And…and shouldn’t somebody stick around to go back to Asgard, to tell them what happened?”

Thor frowned, but begrudgingly listened to her. He turned his attentions toward Karnilla. “What is it that you have done to them?”

“It’s nothing that your friends shouldn’t be able to handle, son of Odin,” she told him peaceably enough. “They’ll be allowed to return home again once they’ve achieved what they sought after.” She shifted in her position, adding aloofly, “There are many challenges that await them…both physical _and_ mental.”

The meaning in her words was clear. Thor turned, meeting eyes with his brother. Across the distance they seemed to have a silent conversation, Loki wary and sharp and Thor pleading.

Finally Loki turned away abruptly, evidently relenting, for he too leapt into the hole. Behind him the cover slid closed.

Once he was gone, Thor took in Jane’s face and tried to reassure her. “It will be all right. I doubt there is a task out there that between them my brother and our friends cannot meet.”

Jane said nothing. She leaned against Thor, fingers curling into his clothes, and felt incredibly worried for Darcy.

*

Darcy tumbled through time and space, feeling like she was both falling and flying.

She wasn’t sure when she blacked out. She only knew that the next thing she was really conscious of was that there was sand under her back and she was lying with the bodies of five Asgardians in a heap.

Darcy’s eyes flew open and she sat up with a gasp.

From beneath her right elbow came a groggy mutter. “Are we there yet?” Volstagg rubbed his eyes. “Is it time for supper?”

Head turning, dazed, Darcy took in their surroundings. They were on a beach, the sand pale and the unclouded sun glinting off of it brightly. Behind them was nothing but rocks, before them an endless expanse of light turquoise waters. They appeared to have arrived on an inland or maybe a peninsula, the wet shoreline stretching off without visible end in either sideways direction.

The light on her face was suddenly blocked by a shadow, and Darcy turned her head, squinting. She could just make out part of Loki’s face.

He extended a hand to her where she still sat on the ground. “Are you alright?”

“Um, yeah. I think. Thanks.” Darcy let him help her to her feet, making a pathetic attempt at brushing the sand off her heavy and rumpled dress. Why couldn’t she have been like Jane and begged off on the Asgardian duds today? At least right now she’d be comfortable.

Shading her eyes with one hand she took a few unsteady steps forward.

At the edge of the water Fandral and Sif both stood, hands cupped around their mouths as they made varying entreaties up to the sky for Karnilla to come and retrieve them.

“You can stop that right now,” Loki snapped. “It isn’t going to work.”

Both whirled around to face him, moving back towards the rest of their party.

“Why not?” Fandral demanded tartly. “You don’t figure that she’s listening?”

“Of course she is. I’m certain that from here on out she’ll be watching our every movement. No doubt this is great source of amusement for her.” Loki shook his head. “But we were sent here under the guise of a deal. Karnilla will not let us simply go home again. Not until we’ve satisfied her.”

“He’s right,” Sif agreed with a weary sigh.

Fandral frowned unhappily, giving a mutter. “I’d prefer to be satisfying her in a much different way.”

Hogun shot him a look from where he was double-checking to make sure he’d landed with armor and weapons intact. Volstagg stood next to Hogun, heedless of the others as he endeavored to get all of the sand out of his thick beard.

Loki however was far from amused. He stepped forward, getting right in Fandral’s face. “Do you think you could focus for once? It’s very well for you to play it so lighthearted. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t opened your mouth!”

“How was I to know what the queen was thinking?” Fandral scoffed, face twisting in a scowl to match Loki’s. “You’re the _clever_ one, my good man; why didn’t _you_ say something to stop me!”

“Hey!” Darcy stepped between them, an arm going to bump each of their chests. She pushed them apart. “You know, I’m not an expert, but I’m thinking now’s really not the time for this.”

Fandral and Loki huffed but they did stop arguing, though neither of them apologized.

Darcy continued, “What are we supposed to be doing here, anyway?”

“Whether we realized it or not, we asked Karnilla for adventure,” Hogun stated.

Volstagg glanced up from his grooming efforts and agreed, “Stands to reason she won’t let us go home again until we’ve gone and found one.”

Darcy flapped her arms, raising and dropping them in exasperation. “Today I’ve visited two different dimensions apart from my own one, and been flung out of the sky into a third. I’m already having one hell of an adventure here.”

Volstagg chuckled. “Maybe for you that might be something, friend,” he said apologetically, “but I’m afraid it’s nothing in the ways for us. Not until we siege a castle, or slay a vicious beast, or…something.”

Darcy’s shoulders drooped. “How long is that gonna take?”

Volstagg only shrugged.

Sif turned a querying gaze to Loki. “I don’t suppose there is any chance _you_ could simply transport us back to Asgard?”

“Doubtful.” Loki sighed, examining their surroundings. “If this is truly an isolated world, there may very well be no connections out of it. In any case, I can do nothing without knowing where we are.” He turned to face the others. “We need to try and find civilization.”

“What if there isn’t any?” Volstagg asked.

Sif exclaimed, insistent, “There must be something. She wouldn’t have simply dumped us into a wasteland!”

Fandral nodded in agreement with the estimation. In a trail, by unspoken consensus, they were already starting to walk along one side of the beach. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun,” Darcy repeated, scoffing. She hung back behind the rest of them, her steps grudging. “Oh sure. Right now I’m having _tons_ of fun.”

Loki walked over and arranged his cloak over her shoulders, providing some small relief from the brutal sun. Darcy tried to give him a weak smile.

“Thanks.”

Loki merely nodded back, giving her a wan look of his own. The two of them continued to follow the others.

After a few minutes, Volstagg sighed. “I wish Thor was here with us,” he said in an absent, mournful tone.

Loki gave a short sound of irritation. “What, do you think we can’t do this without him?”

As a one the other four stopped in their tracks, heads turning over shoulders to give Loki narrow and burning looks. It was, evidently, far as the warriors were concerned, the absolutely wrong thing for him to say.

He went still under the full force of their combined anger, his face hardening, mouth set in a narrow line.

Darcy looked back and forth between him and them, and after no one said anything, she made a pathetic attempt at a distraction. “Oh, look,” she said quickly, blundering. “Over there, is that a house? Oh no, wait, it’s a rock. Oops. Sorry.”

She trailed off, but it seemed to be the necessary reminder that they should all keep moving. The others shook themselves and wordlessly set their feet to walking once more.

Darcy was sure her nose was already starting to peel before they glimpsed their first sign of the harbor. When they did, though, the entire group broke out into exclamations, their trudging pace turning to running as they raced forward.

The harbor turned out to be only the start of it. There was a small natural inlet from the sea, into which had been built the wooden docks where tall ships of varying sizes were tied up, sales floating in the breeze. Behind it was a sprawl recognizable at a glance as a town – but one from what to Darcy’s world would have been several centuries ago.

A sign faded by sea salt and creaking from thick rusted chains hung near what served as the main entrance. In carved letters it said _‘Kraken’s Cove’._

Darcy could feel her jaw dropping. “Whoa.”

“Well,” Fandral remarked, after a wary moment, “it appears we have found civilization.”

But what kind of civilization, seemed to be the unspoken question from all of them. Their group clustered more tightly together as they made their way down the uneven dirt-lined road into town.

There was a tall gate that had been left open to allow easy access, and for the most part they blended in with a bustling pedestrian crowd. Darcy glanced up, spotting soldiers in powdered wigs and brass-buttoned uniforms guarding the ramparts. Part of a fort was visible nearby. Inside past the gates was a teeming mass of people that walked unpaved streets between wooden buildings and open market stalls; livestock and rolling carts, men in vests and women in skirts and bodices. To the Asgardians the setting probably looked simply alien – Darcy felt as if she’d either walked onto a Hollywood movie set or wandered back in time. It was the perfect image of the port town in a period action flick.

Or at least that was how it appeared at first glance. Differences began to stand out the more she looked.

Kraken’s Cove seemed to have been built inside a canyon, a natural break in the rocky terrain they’d first noticed at the beach upon arrival. It was a wide expanse to start with but obviously still not enough, going on by the way which the buildings leaned towards one another. It had been built up over time; quite literally, as many of the structures towered to five stories and over. Darcy knew jack about architecture, but she was pretty sure with technology this outwardly dated, that shouldn’t be possible.

In addition to the streets at ground level there was a network of ramps and walkways between the higher buildings, a few suspension bridges, the occasional platform. It was like some kid’s tree-house fantasy had gotten way out of control and turned into an entire city instead.

And as she watched, every once in a while, one of the walkways would swing around and move, Harry Potter staircase style.

“This is a world that has magic,” Hogun noted, having made the same observations as Darcy.

“Maybe so. But so far there doesn’t appear to be anyone openly practicing,” Loki said in a murmur, eyes darting as he scanned the crowd.

As Darcy turned to look, she caught more than few faces among the natives staring back at them, frowning.

“We seem to be attracting attention,” Volstagg remarked, the staring obvious enough that all of them began to notice. “Just once, you know, I’d like to visit a new realm where armor is still a commonplace fashion statement.”

“Let them stare,” Sif muttered, boldly.

“No.” Loki spoke up with caution. “We don’t know anything about what the system of law is like here, what is commonplace. Perhaps we could all fight our way through an army if we had to, but right now it’d be safer if it didn’t have to come to that.”

“Right,” Fandral drawled. “So, clothes?”

Loki nodded. “Clothes.”

After some searching they found a nice secluded ally to duck into. Loki had quick enough study of the population that he was able to transfigure what they were already wearing to garments that blended in – though getting the rest of them satisfied with his alterations took some further doing.

The other Asgardians balked at the idea of losing their armor, but their common sense was appealed to enough that eventually they relented. Weapons had to be concealed. Sif refused a skirt and had to be put into men’s clothing. Fandral kept being dissatisfied, chiding Loki repeatedly to make him ‘more fashionable’, until the sorcerer looked ready to brain him over the head.

Darcy tried to be less demanding. She felt the squeeze of her bodice and pretended she was at a Renaissance Faire.

“Can I have a tri-cornered hat?” she had to request though, tentatively.

Loki gave a slight sigh, sounding tired, but he waved his fingers around and the weight of one settled on her head. Darcy fingered the brim and smiled at him.

“Thanks.” She paused. “And, uh, what about my glasses…?”

He made an impatient gesture. “I could transform them into something more suitable for these people, or you could just hide them in your pocket.”

Darcy made a face. ‘Suitable’ in this case meant bifocals and wire frames. She was so glad she could see enough without them.

“No thanks. I’ll just, yeah, hide them.” She swiftly pulled them from her face and tucked them into the small bag hanging from her belt.

“All right.” Volstagg glanced from where Fandral was admiring his feathered hat, to Sif smoothing her doublet. “We fit in. Now what?”

“Now we go take a look around, it’s to be supposed,” Sif told him. “Somewhere in this place must be something that can pass for adventure.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but nobody else was offering. Still staying close, heads turning around them with wariness, but doing their best to try and blend in, they returned to the streets. The crowds hadn’t lessened any and with the heat of the day came the press of unwashed bodies and a distinctive smell.

Darcy’s nose wrinkled. The longer they were there the more the exoticness began to lose its charm.

They paused near the open square and hung back, watching the crowds move around them. Across the way stood a dilapidated building that was a tavern judging by the drunks stumbling out, and the women in ratty skirts that leaned against the wall next to the door, peddling their ‘wares’ in broad daylight.

“It’s a lot less Port Royal, way more Tortuga. You know?” Darcy commented.

There was no response to that, the reference probably lost on her friends. An old fisherman walked past, leered at them and spat between missing teeth on the ground.

Volstagg’s eyes moved over the numbers around them, uncertain. “Does anyone else get the feeling this village is not usually so heavily occupied?”

“Many of these people do appear to be travelers by their appearance,” Sif agreed. “I wonder what the appeal must be.” Volstagg gave a hopeful, halfhearted shrug.

“Maybe there’s a festival in town.”

Fandral turned to watch a group of hairy men in turbans walk past, his distaste and dubiousness evident. “They don’t appear to be all that _festive_.”

Darcy was only half paying attention. Outside the tavern, a short distance away from the prostitutes, she’d noticed an interesting sight.

There was a heavy-set burly man lying face down on a straw mat placed on top of a table, two women giving him a back massage. A merchant counting a handful of coins, and a tall man carrying a club stood nearby, watching the proceedings. It looked like the two men were responsible for the renting out of the ladies’ services.

The women didn’t look quite like anyone else she’d seen in the city so far. They were petite and slender, willowy, with bony faces boasting almost elflike features. Their faces were impassive blanks as they rubbed at the man’s skin in tandem. Their dresses were little more than slips covering what needed, their long hair in thin waves that made it look permanently damp.

Darcy wandered closer, straining to see. She was abruptly knocked off course by a small boy plowing into her at the waist. With a startled grunt, she looked down just in time to see him sticking hands inside her bag.

“Hey!”

The little would-be thief quickly stumbled back, empty-handed, only to be grabbed by Hogun roughly at the shoulder.

“And just what do you think you were doing?” Loki wheeled around to face the child, eyeing him carefully.

“Lemme go! Get off me!” The boy shook in Hogun’s grasp to no avail.

Loki ignored his speaking. “If you’re to be making a living at being quick-fingered, boy, I suggest you get a little more practice,” he advised. He lifted one hand and uncurled fingers: a rough leather pouch dangled by a cord, the coins that were inside it clinking.

The boy went pale with disbelief then red with indignation. “How did you…that’s _mine!_ ”

Loki smiled at him detachedly, holding it just out of reach as he made a grab for it. “How about a trade?”

“ _Trade?_ ” the boy spat. “I ain’t making a deal with you for what’s _m_ y money, fair and square!”

Loki’s smirk fell and he feigned a thoughtful look. “Fair?” he repeated, musingly. “You earned this at an honest employment? Plying some skill, perhaps.” The boy turned stiff-lipped. “We’ll call for a lawman, then, let him sort it all out-”

“What is that you want for it?” the boy interrupted, terse. Loki dipped his head in mocking nod at the child’s acquiescence.

“Information. My friends and I, we’re not much familiar with these parts. Where would a good place to go be if we were looking for…excitement, of a different sort? Something interesting?”

The boy’s face squinted up and he made an impatient sound. “Most folk just head to the pubs or the brothels, they want to pass the time. The weird ones go looking to talk to the Blind Beggar.”

“The Blind Beggar?” Sif repeated, inserting herself into the conversation. The others had been all watching intently but had been content up until that point to leave the questioning to Loki. “Who or what is that?”

The boy gave as best a shrug as he could with Hogun still holding fast to his shoulder. “This old codger, lives in a cave just around the edge of the harbor. People say he can see the future, or something. He’s supposed to _know_ all kinds of stuff.”

“Perhaps, where to find us an adventure,” Fandral offered in a murmur, the others leaning in close together and nodding in agreement.

“Either way, it’s probably a good place to go,” Darcy put in. “Isn’t this how a lot of quest stories start out? Some guy who doesn’t know what to do next goes to talk to a seer or a wise man?” She was pretty sure that’s how it went in her mythology and western literature classes.

The Asgardians all made brief eye contact with each other – and from the glances exchanged, Darcy was reminded that these people had literally known each other for thousands of years. They’d done the whole group adventuring before. She had no doubt that entire conversations and debates were going on in those glances.

Finally, Loki looked to Hogun, who nodded, and released the child with a mild shove. Loki tossed the bag of coins from his hand – the urchin caught them with both of his, barely fumbling.

“That satisfies the terms of agreement.” His countenance darkened. “Now get lost.”

“Yes,” Fandral raised a fist, a look coming over his face that was just as fierce as it was sly, “before we teach you a lesson about trying to make off with the purses of unsuspecting ladies.” Beside him, Volstagg was purposefully cracking his knuckles. Sif and Hogun just looked generically threatening.

The boy didn’t need any further urging. He turned tail and vanished.

Fandral gave a scoffing laugh at his exit, and then turned back towards the others.

“So then. On to this ‘Beggar’ chap, I take it?” he offered, almost sweetly. Volstagg clapped him one on the shoulder and Loki rolled his eyes.

Darcy shook her head and bit back an incredulous laugh. If hanging around with this group when they were only getting started was this exciting, she couldn’t imagine what it was going to be like when the _real_ adventuring got started.

But one way or another, she supposed she was going to find out.


	2. The Flying Dutchman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't waste any time making excuses for having taken so abysmally long to get about to writing more of this story, since obviously you've all been waiting for long enough already. Suffice to say I'm really sorry, and I promise it won't take nearly as long for me to get around to doing the next part. Thank you to all those of you who left comments and kudos in the meantime, showing me there was still continued interest in this story.
> 
> (Also a side-note that may or may not be considered relevant: in my head the Blind Beggar is played by Ian McShane. Just putting that out there.)

The alleged wise man known as the ‘Blind Beggar’ was at first easy enough to locate. Just about everyone who lived in Kraken’s Cove had heard of him, and they all pointed in the same direction.

After that it got a little murkier. A general direction was the most detail anyone seemed able to go into. Few people had actually been to see the man themselves, either because of superstition or disinterest. All they could really tell their little gang of travelers was that they had to go as far as the edge of the docks at the edge of town, and then keep walking.

And so for the second time in one day, Darcy found herself trudging along a beach, without much of clue what she was looking for.

The air was thick with the tang of sea salt and the uneven sand was hard to walk in the leather shoes she was wearing. At least her hat kept the sun off her head and mostly out of her eyes. But her mouth was getting dry and her skin felt like it was baking, her heavy clothes starting to cling to her with sweat.

She fought back the urge to ask _‘Are we there yet?’_

When they finally spotted the mouth of the cavern they were looking for, she had no qualms about giving an audible groan of relief.

“Finally!”

Sif glanced at her in wry amusement. Loki however was frowning, and spoke with a note of caution aimed at all of them.

“We’re not out of the woods just yet.”

“Nay,” Volstagg groused, “we’re almost out of the _beach_ and into some much-desired shade. Whatever your words of reproach are, friend, can’t they _wait_ but for a moment?”

Hogun and Fandral made sounds of agreement. Loki glowered at them.

“Even if this person we are here to see is as his reputation claims, that doesn’t give us any reason to already celebrate,” he snapped at them. “He might not be any help at all. Or he could be dangerous."

“One old blind man, against all of us?” Fandral looked around, scoffing, one hand resting on his sword. “Come now.”

Loki stared at him stonily for a beat before giving him an answer. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

Fandral drew himself up, inhaling slowly, the amusement falling from his face.

Whatever would have happened next however was interrupted by another, unfamiliar voice calling out to them.

“Indeed they can.”

The five Asgardians spun, forming a kind of half circle with their bodies, facing out. Darcy’s hands clenched reflexively and she took a step back, covering herself behind them, even as she too turned to look at the speaker.

A man had appeared from the darkness of the cave. He was the embodiment of the mysterious isolated hermit – old and weathered looking, dressed in tattered worn robes, with long beard and hair that was probably darker once before it had faded to grey. He walked slightly hunched forward, in one hand holding to a carved staff that was a head taller than he was. His eyes were covered by a handmade device that seemed a cross between goggles and blinders that settled directly against his face.

Incapable of actually _seeing_ them or not, he was looking directly at them.

“Travelers,” he presumed out loud in a gusty, stately voice, as weighted by age as the rest of him, “come seeking answers from afar. I believe I am the one for whom you seek.”

The warriors’ gazes flicked to one another, questioning, uncertain. Finally Loki moved himself slightly forward.

“You believe right,” he answered, voice toneless, “assuming you are the one they call the Blind Beggar.”

The man’s face shifted in a way that was almost a smile. Looking at him, Darcy found she didn’t dare to pin a guess on how _old_ he actually was – he didn’t seem decrepit, infirm, but there was something about him she couldn’t really put into words. He just _seemed_ ancient.

He carried himself with a kind of strength, and his voice was deep and resonant. He didn’t seem like someone who’d been forced to the edges of society. He acted like a man with authority. With power.

“I am called many things, by many different people, but yes. That is one of them.” He bowed his head, briefly. “And who then, are you?”

“As you say, we are travelers, from a place very far from here,” Loki told him. He looked like he would’ve continued but stopped in bemusement as the old man held up one hand.

“Pardon,” he apologized, absently, for his abrupt gesture, “but before you go on I must warn you. Do _not_ lie to me.” He stated this with a grave, almost foreboding manner. “You will not be able to get away with it.”

Loki couldn’t seem to resist a thin smile. “Many think that they are skilled enough to always spot a liar.”

“Oh, it has nothing to do with skill,” the old man told him, matter of fact. He shifted, weight leaning against his staff. “Those that sent you here may have told you it is rumored I can see the future. I can at times catch glimpses, but that is not the real nature of my gift. What I see is truth.”

He paused, letting that sink in. Darcy didn’t think it was her imagination the Asgardians were growing more nervous.

“If you tell me fact, I will know,” the beggar went on. “And if you place falsehood in front of me, I will not only know it but see the truth that lies concealed beneath. The force that robbed me of my sight, you see, saw fit to bless me as a form of…compensation.” Reaching up he removed the covering from his face.

Darcy pressed a hand over her mouth to hold back the bile as she saw his skin was scarred beneath, his eyes gouged out completely.

In response to the group’s stony breathless silence, the man gave a knowing, faintly amused look as he covered the area where his eyes had been once again. “Oh yes. You were wondering if I was really blind,” he noted. “It takes no gift of prescience to determine that. I have seen such skepticism before, many times.”

Loki’s throat moved as he quietly swallowed. “As I was saying, we are travelers from across the sea.”

“No, you are not,” the beggar refuted almost immediately. His head turned as he seemed to listen to something. “You are from much, much further away from that.”

“Where we are from ultimately doesn’t matter,” Loki went on, striving not to sound testy. “It has no bearing on what has brought us here to you.”

“And what is that?” was demanded, terse.

Loki gave a stiff smile and an indifferent shrug. “Nothing more than idle curiosity.”

“No,” he was rejected again, even more stonily. “What you’ve come to me for is information, and whatever it is be far more important than you seem willing to let on.” Loki sagged in visible annoyance, eyes closing with a wince. “I gather you have reason enough for your caution, boy, and it is wise not to share your entire history with a stranger,” the man offered. “But as you can see, with me your efforts are entirely wasted.”

“By the nine, Loki!” Sif stepped forward, voice brusque, moving so she was alongside and brushing his arm in a gesture of reproach. “Stop testing him and get on with it. We are not here to waste time!”

“You think it’d be wise to let all in this foreign realm know straightway who we are and how it is we came here?” Loki retorted, angry. “You don’t see how dangerous that could become?”

Even though between the Viking aliens and the mystical prophet, Darcy felt like she was about five inches tall, she crept forward anyway, brushing between the group to address the beggar. She tried to hide her apprehension.

“Okay,” she began, voice more or less even, “here’s the deal. Like you probably got already, me and them…we’re _really_ not from around here. As in, we don’t even know where ‘here’ is. We were visiting this sorceress, and it’s kind of a long story, but the point is she basically banished us here and sent us on a quest. And we’re not allowed to go back until we have ourselves an adventure.” She trailed off.

“So…we were hoping you could, I don’t know, tell us about something we could do to have an adventure and…set us on the right track?”

She gave him a feeble smile.

It wasn’t actually visible beneath his visor but from his expression she’d been pretty sure he was listening to her whole spiel with eyebrows raised. Finally, after a tense moment, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah,” he remarked. “In that case, then…yes. I believe I would most certainly be able to offer you some assistance.”

He stepped back and spread out one arm, wordlessly inviting them to enter the dark cavern.

The warriors exchanged wary glances again, but moved forward, looking ready at any notice to draw their weapons. Darcy let them go first, hanging close between Fandral and Volstagg.

The inside of the cave was not at all what she’d been expecting.

For a start, it was much larger. Not only was there room for all seven of them to fit inside easily, they probably could’ve brought a small army with them and not had to squish. The ceiling was high and past the shadowy curve that made up the entrance the walls stretched out. Another surprise was that the cavern wasn’t closed off all the way: there was an inlet from the ocean, a channel of unknown depth where one would be easily able to escape into the sea.

And despite the hermit-like appearance of the man that lived there, the interior of the cave was hardly barren. It was like some merging of an antique store and a dragon’s hoard. There were piles of treasure, ornate objects, parchments and statues and weapons and furniture.

They took it all with bewilderment. “I wasn’t aware being a recluse paid so well,” Volstagg was heard to comment.

“You could say that I am a collector, of sorts.” The beggar made himself comfortable in a wooden high-backed chair. “Despite varying appearance, none of these things you see are ordinary. They have their own value, scattered from all over Loquah.”

Loki turned towards him, hand dropping from where he’d been about to examine an iron-bound chest. “Loquah? So that is the name of your world,” he surmised.

The blind man nodded. “Yes. It is the name she was given in days of old, when the Founders and speakers of the common tongue were said to come from a fiery land in the sky, and gathered the people that were already here together, uniting them underneath the Treaty of Lords.”

Loki listened to this carefully. “Who rules over your realm now? Do you have one king, or several?”

The man shook his head. “No kings. Only governors, mayors, chieftains and the like. Each with authority over his own port – such as Kraken’s Cove – or island.”

Loki frowned. “No greater authority, and yet you are all united? No one in this world ever goes to war with one another?”

“You must understand something.” The beggar adjusted his position where he sat, shifting. “In Loquah, all life comes from the sea. The land here, once even a short distance away from the water, is arid, barren. Nothing can be farmed on the mainland – only on islands far out among the waves. The majority of men and women are sailors, for that is about the only way to make a living. Trade is abundant.”

He tilted his head, seeming to stare down at Loki, blind or no.

“Any corner of our civilization could not isolate itself from its fellows. They would not survive.”

Loki nodded, understanding. “War would have no purpose under such conditions,” he mused. “It’s in everyone’s best interests if they cooperate under one common law.”

“That is the way it always has been, as far back as anyone can recall,” the old man agreed.

Loki made a move as if to walk away from him, but he was startled when the beggar spoke once more.

“You never did tell me, traveler. What is your name?”

Loki stilled. “I am Loki Odinson, prince of Asgard,” he answered quietly.

A strange look came over the beggar’s face. As if he had been surprised somehow but simultaneously found it amusing.

“Interesting.” He drew the word out slowly, considering something to himself. “That _is_ the truth. But you were afraid it would not be.”

Loki went even stiller, rigid. Darcy had been hanging around nearby, looking at some of the cavern’s objects and also eavesdropping. She did what she knew Loki wanted to but didn’t dare: stole a glance to see if Sif and the Warriors Three had been listening.

Considering she was the only one present who also knew the whole “adopted from another species” thing, it wasn’t hard to guess what he was worried about.

But their four companions had wandered further into the cavern, and seemed engrossed in poking through other sections of the hoard. They weren’t even looking at Loki or Darcy or the beggar, and it didn’t seem they’d heard a word of the conversation.

Loki released a slow breath, and then shot a sideways look at the other man. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to him, curt.

He strode off in the direction of his fellows, and Darcy quickly dropped what she was doing and followed him.

“What’s going on?” Darcy asked, curious. “Did you pick up something more from what that guy had to say than I did? Because while it was interesting and all, I didn’t really hear anything that could help us.”

Loki waited another moment until they had reached the rest of their friends to answer. The warriors all looked up from sifting through ancient coins and fingering tapestries, and seeming to realize Loki had something to tell them they dropped what they were doing and tightly circled in at once.

“What is it?” Fandral asked.

“Did you find out anything that could be of use?” Sif chimed in.

“I believe so,” Loki stated. “In the origin story of this realm, there is mention of a race of founders that came from the sky, and gave them the All-Tongue. I think that must mean Muspell.”

Darcy watched as the faces of the others lit up in understanding. “Okay…what?” she demanded.

“Muspell is one of the original two worlds that fell apart in the creation of the nine connected by the World’s Tree,” Hogun explained to her blank look. “Most of the other races are descended from them. It is why the dwarves, the elves, the people of Asgard and the Jotun all speak the All-Tongue."

“According to the legends Muspell was a realm of incredible riches,” Sif added. “It was always insisted that one group of refugees was able to carry a large quantity of it with them when they fled. But there has never been any sign found of it on any of the known realms.”

Her gaze slid meaningfully back towards her fellows, who all appeared to be having the same thoughts.

“So, wait.” Darcy blinked at them. “You think that maybe there’s a chance that somewhere on this waterlogged planet is this ancient mythical Treasure Island?”

“Frankly, I’ve heard odder things throughout my time,” Fandral remarked. He looked to the others, smiling. “And if it _is_ true, finding it would certainly make for one grandiose adventure.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “But we’ll have to be careful. Odds are if the treasure is here, knowledge of it survives in the people’s own legends. We wouldn’t want to begin our quest only to end up with competition.”

“Oh no,” Fandral said slowly, cool. He was looking directly at Loki, who stared back. “There’s nothing worse than that.”

Darcy rolled her eyes – talk about unsubtle. “Think our new buddy knows anything about it?” she offered, trying to keep things moving and everyone more or less focused.

Volstagg shrugged amiably. “Well there’s only one way to find out.” He glanced to Loki. “Do you want to talk to him again? Or are you going to make everything difficult by keeping on fibbing?”

It was clear by his tone he meant it as a joke, but Loki’s expression briefly darkened before he forced the expression away, and then with a tight nod he spun to go speak to the beggar.

The man was now standing with back to them, by the edge of the inlet that ran through the cavern, his head fixed as if gazing out at the water.

“Excuse me,” Loki called. “But I do have one more inquiry.”

Slowly the beggar turned, the wind tugging at the edges of his robe and his hair. He followed the sound of Loki’s voice and faced him. “Yes?”

Loki stopped in front of him. “Among the denizens of your world, do you have any stories dealing with a lost and vast treasure? Presumably one that is said to be ancient, possibly tracing back all the way to these ‘Founders’ of which you spoke.”

“Yes,” he was told, the word coming out slowly, as if drawn from a deep well of knowledge within. “There is indeed such a tale. Throughout the ages few have searched for it but most have little idea where to begin. There _is_ rumored to be a map, but those in power are far more interested in keeping it under lock and key, safe, than in the controversy and fighting that would be stirred up by backing a voyage to find it.”

“Splendid!” Fandral exclaimed, from where he and the others remained a few feet back from Loki. “And this map, where is it located? Is it someplace nearby?”

A smile spread across their informant’s wizened old face. “It is kept in the office of the governor of Kraken’s Cove.”

Loki turned away from him and back towards the rest. His eyes glinted. He didn’t have to say anything. They all knew what he was thinking.

If ever there was a meaningful sign, surely this was it.

*

Darcy really, really didn’t want to have to walk all the way back to the city again. They’d barely began their trek before she started begging Loki to teleport them.

He refused. Oh, he had practical enough reasons, maybe, but she was too tired and cranky to listen to them. Instead of letting him talk she crossed her arms and grumbled angrily to herself.

Volstagg however, offered to carry her the rest of the way. Deciding it was a good enough compromise if it meant she didn’t have to get her feet anymore blistered than they probably were already, Darcy looped her arms around his neck and the red-haired warrior easily supported the rest of her weight by her legs, piggyback-style.

As they walked, he told her tales of other journeys he had taken, over several thousand years of adventuring. Ones where they had to walk greater distances and under much worse conditions than they were in now.

“It was bad enough it was the height of summer in Nidavellir, but the terrain was so rough that by the fifth day, it had eaten right through our boots and the soles of our feet began to bleed!” Volstagg exclaimed, brightly, “And the heat! It was like the breath of Nidhogg himself. After a while we became delusional. Why, I even contemplating at one point parting with my _beard_ just to gain some measure of relief.”

Darcy ducked her head closer against his neck, silent. She bit her lower lip and figured she’d better suck it up and complain less from there.

While Volstagg was happily telling his adventuring stories, the rest were carrying on a different conversation. Namely, what their next move would be once in town.

“It should be obvious, I think,” Fandral insisted. “We head straight for the map.”

“And do what, tell the governor we’re a group of fortune-seekers from another world and to hand it over?” Loki replied. “We need more of a plan than that.”

“Ah, of course: a _plan_. Do you actually have one?”

Sif spoke up over Fandral. “Let us move past that for a moment and to the part where we manage to have the map in our possession. What _then_? The treasure will hardly be around here. And it sounds as if any kind of a journey in this land requires the crossing of water.”

“Well, we’ll have to get our hands on a boat then, won’t we?” Fandral said. “Er, somehow.”

“You guys are Vikings, right,” Darcy remarked. “So you’ve all sailed a boat before, haven’t you?”

Her confidence wasn’t won by the sideways, uncertain glances the five gave one another.

“Of course, but…it was a very long time ago,” Volstagg admitted. “There are ships on Asgard but most of us use other methods of travel. We were only s _ailors_ back in our days with the Norsemen. I don’t think I really remember how to sail. Do any of you?”

Fandral hesitated and Sif began shaking her head. Hogun however turned without blinking and said, “I do,” with utmost confidence.

“Well, one out of the lot isn’t bad,” Loki said, a touch wryly.

Darcy supposed it was better than nothing. And then decided firmly not to think about it anymore.

The gates to Kraken’s Cove still stood wide open and they entered with exactly as much ease as before. This time, the group decided by some consensus to head towards the area that seemed to serve as the marketplace to continue having their discussion – there was a notion that there it would be crowded and loud enough that they could stand around without looking too suspicious, blend in and talk without being overheard.

As the novice adventurer – oh, who was she kidding really; she was a tourist – Darcy hung back and kept her mouth shut while the five Asgardians debated. She didn’t have much of an opinion she could share, except that she would like to be getting back home very soon.

It hit her that, at this point, ‘home’ was about four dimensions away. The implications made her head hurt. She staggered away and bumped into a potbellied man in an eye-patch.

“Whoops!” Darcy apologized to him quickly, not least because this seemed like the kind of place where they could shank you first and ask questions later. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“No trouble, little lass.” The man’s voice was raspy, like he had a sore throat or maybe just a pronounced tobacco problem. He patted his pockets. “As long as you’re not after my coins, that is.”

“Oh no! I mean, no way,” she reassured him. “Hell, I almost got pickpocketed earlier myself.”

The man gave a grin that showed off some really yellow teeth. Tobacco it was, then. “Aha, yes. Have to give it to the wretches: they’re clever enough to know that this close to auction day, they’ll be plenty of folk around who walk with a heavy purse.”

 _‘Auction day?’_ Darcy almost repeated, but stopped herself within a hairsbreadth, realizing that if he said it so obviously maybe she was supposed to know and it’d look weird if she didn’t. She decided to play along. She was friends with a trickster god and occasionally superspies raided her mini-fridge in the office, for crying out loud. She could totally do this.

“Ah, yes. The auction. So I take it you’re also here to…buy?” She squinted her eyes as she spoke, hoping it made her look somehow knowledgeable.

She was encouraged when the man nodded, easygoing enough. “That I am. I wait all year for this – not one of those fat merchants who can afford to come more often, and hope there’ll be something worthwhile amongst slimmer pickings,” he groused. “All I could use is for my own personal need.”

“Yeah…me too,” Darcy said agreeably. “It, uh, would be a shame to come all this way, and not find what I was looking for.” She feigned annoyance. “Too bad there isn’t a way to get my bid in early.”

The man looked at her with more interest. “Early?” He gave a conspiratorial chuckle. “Oh…so you’re one of _those_.”

Darcy struggled to meet his gaze evenly and coolly. “Maybe I am.” She hoped she sounded confident enough. “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing at all.” He lowered his voice a bit, leaning in to put their heads a few inches closer together. “I happen to be of a similar sentiment myself. The rules of sale aside, it’s the only way you can be certain to get first pick of the best lots.”

She only hesitated a moment. “… _Exactly_ ,” she said, putting a lot of emphasis in to make it sound like she really knew what she was talking about. “I couldn’t agree more. Yeah, it really is the surest way.”

“Have you found yourself a compliant seller yet?”

“What? I mean…no. Not yet. But I’m looking,” Darcy said firmly. “Uh, why? Have you?”

He grinned again. “Tell you what. This is your lucky day. I’ve no qualms about passing along the name I’ve got. I’ve dealt with these hands before, and I know there’ll be plenty to go around. Can you read?”

“Sure,” she said without thinking, and the next thing she knew, the man had reached in his pocket, produced a battered piece of slate and a notepad, ripping out a piece of paper and scrawling something down. He pressed the scrap into her palm, briefly giving her hand a sweaty squeeze.

“Be careful who else you tell. And, best of luck to you.”

He was gone with a tip of his head, disappearing amongst the crowd. Darcy waved at him and called, “You too!”

She turned around to find the Asgardians staring at her with wide-eyed confusion. Apparently they’d caught the tail-end of that exchange.

“Darcy,” Loki demanded of her, astonished, “what did you do?”

“Oh my _god_ , I have no idea.” She shoved the piece of paper she’d received at him and babbled off what she could remember of the story, what exactly she had said and had been said to her in reply.

“An auction would certainly explain the number of visitors here in this city.” Fandral stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But what’s all this business about getting in beforehand?”

“Maybe it’s something like the ‘buy it now’ option on EBay?” Darcy offered. “People being willing to pay a certain price from the start if they don’t want to risk losing out during the bidding?”

“Actually, I think that may not be an inaccurate description,” Loki said, slow. He held out the piece of paper he had been examining for the others to see. In cramped, tiny handwriting it said _‘The Compass Rose Inn, back room, sundown’_.

“Directions for a meeting,” Hogun surmised.

“Going by what your new acquaintance said,” Loki continued, looking at Darcy, “trying to broker a sale before the official auction is frowned upon. But those with the money or simply the gumption will try anyway.”

“But what are they even selling?” Darcy questioned. “It could be anything. Animals, or drugs, or-”

“Or ships,” Fandral stated. “Or, for that matter, a copy of the map to the lost treasure of Muspell. It certainly couldn’t hurt to check it out! What if it turns out to be something we have use for?”

Loki considered it, and then nodded. “One of us should go.”

“And by ‘one of us’, I suppose that you mean you,” Sif put in, bluntly. “In that case, I will accompany you. In the event you need an extra arm should it come to defending yourself.”

Loki drew a breath through his nose. Sif met his gaze unblinkingly, intense in a way that Darcy was pretty sure didn’t have entirely to do with concern.

But Loki forced a smile, and relented. “If you insist. You’ll leave most of the speaking to me, of course.”

“Of _course_ ,” Sif agreed shortly.

“While the two of you are off on your own inquiry, I think that some of us should go and look further into that map,” Fandral offered. He looked around at the rest of them and declared boldly, “I’ll see if I can’t find my way to where this governor is keeping it.”

“You shouldn’t go alone, either,” Sif told him, more seriously.

“All right.” With a smile he clapped a hand on the shoulder of Hogun, who was standing closest to him. “My good, if somewhat forbidding friend: Will you be my second?” Hogun’s only response was a nod. “Ah then, that settles it!”

“We’re splitting up?” Volstagg realized aloud. He glanced at Darcy. “What are the rest of us to do?”

Loki shrugged. “Stay here. Try not to wander too far. Keep an ear out. You never know.” He smirked at her, mildly amused; “Darcy’s luck might hold out, and maybe you’ll stumble onto something else.”

Volstagg seemed to stoically accept he was being saddled with ‘babysit the mortal’ duties. He clasped and absent hand to his stomach and looked around. “Well…as long as we’re waiting, maybe we can find something to eat.”

“You all be careful.” Fandral waved a finger around, pointing. The three groups were already drifting back from one another, starting to break apart.

“You as well,” Sif replied. “We should meet back here, after dark.” She looked around and then nodded to indicate something. “By that well.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Loki put in quietly, acquiescing. The others all made signs and gestures of agreement. And on that note, they all parted.

Darcy stood there silently and wasn’t sure how to feel about the anxiety suddenly blooming in the pit of her stomach.

She had to be worried for nothing. Just because things almost always went bad for groups when they split up on an episode of a TV show, that didn’t mean something automatically had to go bad in real life. Right?

Volstagg patted a hand on her arm encouragingly. “Come, milady,” he announced, head turning with eagerness. “Let us find a place where we can trade for some refreshment."

*

It didn’t take long, or really much effort or extension of cleverness on their part, for Fandral and Hogun once they separated from the others to determine what their next course of action would be.

Or rather, for Fandral to make a decision, and Hogun to silently support him. Either way, it was all the same, wasn’t it? Teamwork was teamwork.

It’d been always the opinion of Fandral the Dashing that when it came to intended achievement, too much value was placed on subterfuge and careful sneaking about. He much preferred the entirely straightforward approach, in battle, in adventuring, in courtship: to boldly rush in and state one’s intentions, without any shame or hesitation at all. It was certainly a much simpler, effective way of getting things done. And from personal experience he could boast, it was the majority of times successful.

Of course, there were those who’d argue that there were situations where it wasn’t appropriate and didn’t fit, but he dismissed such claims as the needless worrying of those who lacked _confidence_.

And confidence, certainly, was something that he in all his existence never had in short supply.

So, instead of skulking, drifting about or trying to come up with some silly story, they simply went about and inquired of the locals where one might find audience with the governor. And not at all to Fandral’s surprise, they met with complete success: people gave them easy directions to the two locations in town their governor was most like to be found, his private residence or the official building which housed his office.

Once that was done it was up to them to figure how to proceed. And again, Fandral found the best answer was the most simple of ones: _speaking_ to the governor would do them no good. What they truly needed was to get a look at the map allegedly in his possession. Therefore, they would skip the middleman entirely and sneak in themselves to have a peek.

“How will we know where it is we must break into?” Hogun asked in response to his companion’s announcement of the next stage of their ‘plan’. “It could as easily be at his home as in the place he does business.”

Fandral scoffed cheerily, and swung an arm over the other warrior’s shoulders.

“My good Hogun,” he began in confidence, “you must go at thinking about this the right way. Remember, this is not any ordinary document we seek - it is a _treasure map_. Now far as I’m concerned, there’re really only one of two ways any proper sort of man can treat a treasure map once it’s fallen into his possession. If it’s a map he’s already used and gained a glorious adventure out of, then he hangs it on the wall in a gilded frame, displayed proudly for all to see. And in that case it would be of course likelier to be found in said man’s homestead, perhaps over his hearth in a place of honor.”

There was the slightest of pauses before Hogun felt compelled to prompt him into going on. “And if it is not a map he intends to use?”

“Well then, in that case, he would keep it locked away somewhere, secure but unseen,” Fandral elaborated dutifully. He straightened up. “And as is the situation here, then it would almost certainly be contained in the man’s office. Tucked away with the trappings of…business, and other such tedium.”

With a broad grin he spread his arms successfully, most satisfied with himself. “Don’t you see?” he declared. “It all makes perfect sense!”

And before Hogun could reply again, Fandral walked forward past him, setting off in a direction down the road, giving him a friendly cuff. “Now come along. We’d best get underway, as it looks to be only a few hours before sunset.”

From behind him Hogun gave not a sound, not a word or a breath audibly. But even as he fell into step behind Fandral, it was somehow clear to one experienced with his taciturn nature that he was as good as sighing at him.

It was a bit of a shame, really, and Fandral couldn’t help thinking of the state of things with disappointment. Of all his brothers-in-arms he could’ve gotten paired with for a solitary venture, why did he have to be _Hogun?_

Oh, he’d no lack of love for his friend, for like the others theirs was a bond forged over centuries of doing battle side by side, and certainly he valued his skill and cool head in a fight and knew him to be a good man to have at his back to support him. But, well: he was known as Hogun the _Grim_ , and certainly that wasn’t without good reason. It was hard even in the midst of celebrations to get the man to crack a smile.

Above all in his adventures Fandral liked to have _fun_. Was it too much to ask that Hogun be capable of enjoying himself? His utter lack of mirth made for very poor company.

Not for the first time since setting out Fandral mourned that Thor wasn’t there with them. At a time like this he longed for the boisterous, smiling prince he was used to following. And perhaps there was a bit of nostalgia at play, since it’d been awhile since they’d rode out with Thor among them.

But egad, any of his friends would’ve made for more amusing company! Volstagg was always good-natured and joyful, a ready second to Fandral’s jests and cheeky observations. And though she were more focused Sif’s spirited temper and wry tongue were more than a ready match to make for amusing conversation. Why, even Loki…

At once Fandral’s musings came to an abrupt halt, stilled by recollection of past wounds and present tensions. _Enough now,_ he told himself shortly, cold.

They reached the modest but decently impressive building that housed the office where Kraken’s Cove’s governor was known to conduct his affairs. It stood four stories tall, with large windows covered in drawn curtains and a small stone courtyard off to one side. Of course there were guards positioned out front, and probably surrounding all other points of entry around the building as well.

Fandral surveyed the tiny fortress before them, brushing palms against one another in an expression of gleeful anticipation.

“Right then. Now to go about breaking in.”

The day had begun to grow dimmer, the shadows long, but it was far from dark yet. This state of affairs did not sit well with Hogun.

“We should wait until nightfall,” he argued, as they climbed their way to the tiled roof of a nearby building. Fandral expressed himself with a sound of distaste.

“We’re honored and noble warriors of Asgard. Creeping through the dark like common thieves is beneath us. I won’t settle for such nonsense.”

This time Hogun actually did give a sigh. “We’re sneaking inside anyway,” he pointed out, annoyed. “What difference does it make, at this point? If something goes wrong now we’re far more likely to get seen.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Fandral insisted, waving him off. “And we’re not going to get seen! Now shush, and help me find a good window.”

Planting both feet apart on the roof now that they’d made their ascent, he squared his hands together and squinted with one eye as he examined the fixtures of the building across the way with expert scrutiny. With no good way of venting his exasperation, Hogun gave in and joined him.

Within a short time the two identified a window on the topmost floor of decent size and unlikely to have anyone standing nearby it. Grinning, pleased, Fandral produced the bow and single arrow he had jury-rigged moments beforehand. Tying off a rope to the far end of the shaft he took aim.

He struck his target perfectly, the arrow embedding deeply in the wall just behind the window. With a mixture of carefulness and quickness the two of them climbed their way across on the rope, moving hand over hand.

Fandral reached the window first and was able to unlatch it from the outside. He vaulted his way in gracefully, glanced about to ensure the hallway he found himself standing in was clear of interlopers or witnesses, and turned back intending to offer Hogun a hand. The gesture went unneeded, as his friend had already finished pulling himself sideways over the frame.

“Well done,” Fandral remarked. He turned to make way down the hall, creeping, not looking back to know Hogun tread lightly behind him. “Now, I don’t have to tell _you_ not to make a sound, do I?”

Owing to the lateness of the day, the governor was expected to be no longer in residence, having retired to his homestead for the evening. It was to be thought most of his staff would not be present as well. With only a minimal crew of guards and servants like to be about, avoiding them should be no problem.

They searched the floor and eventually found locked double-doors that once broken through, led to a large room with a stately desk, many portraits, and lined on one side entirely by windows. There was to be no doubt, the governor’s office.

Yet one more step completed, Hogun pulled the doors shut behind them, as there was nothing left but to go about searching for the coveted map.

It was an easier said task than done. In addition to the desk the room boasted several cabinets and chifforobes, and there was no shortage to be found of sheathes of paper covered in writing.

As Hogun pulled apart drawers and carefully divested them of their contents, Fandral took a break from pawing through dull and illegible documents to survey some of the decorative touches of the room.

His fingers drifted across various small golden objects, globes and vases and magnifying glasses. At length his gaze landed on a large painting of a chubby man in tight breeches, a long lavender-embroidered overcoat, a towering curly wig and volumes of lace.

“I say,” Fandral observed stoically, hands on his hips, “where _do_ you think they get the idea for such _ridiculous_ fashions?”

There was a pause and then he turned around, grinning absently over his shoulder.

“It’s almost as bad as some of the silly things they wear these days on Midgard-”

Hogun was ignoring him, and he pulled open yet one more desk drawer and then froze. “I think I found it,” he announced. Fandral scurried quickly to his side.

The drawer itself had been locked, though that’d been easy enough to get past by pulling hard. Inside the drawer was a very small wooden chest, plain but sturdily made, and locked as well. Fandral seized a nearby letter-opener and pried apart the hinges. And inside the chest, once opened, was a carefully-folded, weathered piece of parchment nestled between pieces of black velvet.

Unfurled, the parchment displayed a map of sizable land masses and bodies of water, with directions and labels written in tiny and faded handwriting. And a large red and gold star marked the final destination on a concealed island far out at sea.

Hogun and Fandral exchanged a look, eyes bright. “Yes, this must be it,” the latter concluded.

Hogun nodded. But his expression turned as Fandral began rolling the parchment. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Fandral protested. “This is exactly what we’ve came for. What, you think now that we’ve finally found our key to adventure we should leave it and try coming back for it later? Have sense, man!”

“It’s stealing,” Hogun rebutted. “This could have consequences that come back to us later. We should at least talk to the others first.”

“It’s not stealing, it’s…it’s liberating! Or perhaps re-appropriation of resources,” Fandral declared, with a toss of his head. “The act of theft would imply we were taking something these men actually intended to use. But they don’t, so where’s the harm in that? What are we actually robbing them of?”

Hogun said darkly, “I do not think the ones who rule these lands would feel the same way.”

Fandral ignored this. “As for the others, well, what do you think they’d say once we told them of it? No doubt eventually we would come to the same conclusion in consensus, and return to take it anyway,” he said impatiently. “No point in going about in circles. It makes far more sense to take it now that we have the opportunity.”

Hogun didn’t try and argue. Still, he stated, “I don’t like this.”

Fandral rolled his eyes with a faintly amused smile, and used the map to strike his arm. “If one held himself back from everything _you_ didn’t like, Hogun, just imagine how dreadfully dull life would be. Now come along.” He lead the way back towards the door out of the office. “It’s all uphill from here on out. Just trust me.”

He unbolted the door and swung them aside, and he and Hogun suddenly found themselves face-to-face with a startled clerk carrying a stack of papers.

There was a moment of thick silence as they all stared at one another.

“Ah.” Fandral grimaced, reflexively. “Oh dear…”

The little man’s eyes were wide behind his spectacles, and he drew in a deep breath. “Burglars!” he started to shout, in a great state of alarm. “Guards, come quickly-!”

He’d no chance to get any more words out as Fandral knocked him out with a timely blow to the head. He looked back at Hogun, guiltily. The other gazed at him with dark and furious eyes.

“Trust you, you said,” Hogun repeated.

“Look, there’s no time for that. Come on!” The two of them ran swiftly down the upstairs hallway. From below they could already hear voices and the sound of weapons shaking as it seemed some of the soldiers charged with guarding the building were on their way to investigate the disturbance.

Heading back toward the window they’d originally entered from, the Asgardians made no stops to check that the way was clear this time, and as a result rounded a corner to surprise a maid. She shrieked and dropped the bowl she had been carrying with a crash.

Fandral gave a swooping bow, all charm. “Ah, madam, forgive us.” He seized her hand and bowed his head to it, bestowing her with a flattered smile. “But what a fine, white hand this is! Surely it is unsuited for the task of scrubbing common crockery.”

He was interrupted by Hogun grabbing his shoulder and wrenching him away. “Not now! We don’t have time for this!”

They turned away from the now blushing maid, batting her eyes coquettishly, and discovered that three of the guards had already made it to the upstairs.

With a dramatic cry Fandral drew his sword and lunged at them. The first man, not expecting, was dispatched easily. The second put up more of a fight but it was a paltry display. The third guard had moved past to try and attack Hogun, who struck him hard in the chest and send him sprawling to the floor with a leg-sweep for his troubles.

Silence and care no longer an issue, Hogun smashed out the nearest window with his mace, just as Fandral finished besting the final guard with his sword. Hogun gestured to him and the other warrior followed, the pair climbing up over the windowsill and onto the roof.

It was fully dark outside, but the courtyard below flashed with the blaze of torches, guards rushing about and yelling to one another. From their ungainly vantage point above Fandral turned to his fellow.

“Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Hogun remarked.

“Well you were thinking it, quite audibly,” Fandral retorted. He checked to make sure their prize was safely stowed in his doublet and waved a hand. “Come on.”

They picked their way back to the arrow and the rope they originally used to cross over. Moving much more quickly now, with soldiers everywhere and some of them no doubt already hot on their heels, they started to go back across the line the same way they had come.

Unfortunately it proved too late that the arrow, or perhaps the rope, was unwilling to hold up for a second venture. A terse snapping sound was the only warning before the two men found themselves unceremoniously being swung through the air.

At first Fandral was afraid they would crash into the opposite building, perhaps even go through its wall. He made up his mind in a split second and let go, the weight of his body hitting Hogun and knocking him loose as well. They fell in a noisy, ungainly heap and hit the stones of the courtyard hard.

Fortunately, their bodies were made of stronger stuff, and the blow was more a stunning one. Though it took Fandral a groaning moment to pick himself back up to his feet. By that time, more soldiers were already on their way towards them.

“Stand our ground?” Hogun asked.

“And strike down good men who are only trying to do their duty? Nay.” Fandral seized his wrist. “Come along my friend! Let’s give them a merry chase – I’ll bet it won’t be hard to lose them!”

He swung his cape with flourish, his boots along with Hogun’s pounding the terrain as they ran and vanished into the night.

*

After taking their leave, Sif fell wordlessly to following Loki as she allowed him to lead the way on their walk through the town.

Two steps behind – close enough for safety, and that they could meet eyes and communicate in a glance if necessary. Far enough that it didn’t make invite for conversation.

Taking the hint or through some already conceived notion of his own, Loki held his tongue. He spoke not to her, and the only sound from either of them was when they stopped once to quietly ask a fisherman for directions to the Compass Rose Inn.

Their journey remained a stony silent one.

Sif watched Loki’s face as best she could, but his expression was inscrutable. Blank. But what had she expected?

Giving up on what she’d suspected to be a futile endeavor, her gaze drifted to fix on a point at the very center of his unguarded neck. Watching the tightness to his shoulders, the weary resignation she thought she could detect a trace of.

From time to time his eyes flicked, cheek turning just enough aside that he could glance back to assure she was still there behind him. Then in an instant he’d turn away again, moving with lightning swiftness. They’d continue to all but ignore one another.

This was no way for battle-companions to behave. For two warriors that’d seen so much together as they, or any part of their little band, forged so long ago when they were all but children.

Part of Sif mourned that it was no longer thus, and missed the days between them – all of them – full of shared glory and easy companionship. And then that thought only added to the stinging weight within her chest, for it was Loki who had broken the bond by his actions. His betrayals.

It was to be given to his credit that Loki seemed to know better than to expect any different. Though he could look wounded at times, for the most he kept apart from them on Asgard. Like he knew there was nothing left for him where had been acceptance and kinship.

Or perhaps in his long absence he’d discarded his need for any of them, cast aside in disdain.

None of it was making their travels easy now. They needed to be able to work together, without Thor there to force the connection – their survival depended on it. And what had never been mended weighed heavily.

Two steps between them, and the void was gaping and palpable. It was as much Sif could do to hope it wouldn’t be the death of them.

Were she a lesser being she might have tried to make herself forget, but she had her pride: that she could not do. Loki had been pardoned by the word of their king and as a warrior of Asgard she would obey that edict. She would follow Loki as her prince, but she had _not_ re-accepted him as her friend.

The Liesmith had his father’s absolution, his brother’s trust, but he did not have the Lady Sif’s forgiveness.

Maybe he never would.

They reached their destination some time before sundown, and Loki startled her by turning to face her with an elegant twirl on his foot.

He gave a smile that to all appearances seemed perfectly warm, perfectly at ease and charming, and Sif resisted the urge to punch him in the nose. With one hand pressed to his collar he gave her a slight bow.

“It would appear we have some time at our leisure,” he said to her. “What would the Lady Sif prefer? Shall we wait it out, or continue walking and seek some other form of entertainment?”

Every muscle in Sif’s body wanted to go tight just from talking to him. She settled for drawing up to her full height, her fingers curled into fists.

“My lord has no preference?” she returned, false sweetness to match his own address.

His smile never faltered but for a moment she thought she saw something dark and unhappy in his eyes. “None whatsoever.” He bowed again. “I’m leaving it entirely to the lady’s selection.”

Sif hesitated. Even-headedly, she knew the wiser option was to keep moving. They knew not what sort of clandestine meeting they were about to be drawn into, what form of observers might be about or what the potential consequences could be were they perceived.

But the thought of walking aimlessly any longer with Loki in such silent unfriendly company was pure torture. She couldn’t abide it.

Sif gave a nod to indicate her mind was made up. “We stay.” As an afterthought she supposed, “This is an inn: perhaps we can find a place to sit, and take some respite in the meantime.”

Loki’s look was skeptical. “Food and drink? With what money?”

She wasn’t fooled, however. “With what I’m certain at some point you stole off one person or another,” she retorted hotly, though she remembered to keep her voice low. “There were plenty of opportunities as we moved through a tightly packed crowd.” There was nothing reproving about her tone, in fact it was perfectly wry. She all but rolled her eyes at him.

Loki relented with a thin frown. “All right,” he conceded. “But let’s be careful, shall we? I don’t have _that_ much.”

“Who do I look like, Volstagg?” was Sif’s parting inquiry, flippant, and this time she led the way over the rickety wooden threshold.

The main floor of the inn was lit dimly, with only a single unspeakably dirty window. The cracked tables and foul-smelling, dull-eyed patrons spoke to it being a place of ill repute. At least it was quiet. Their meal comprised of a viscous stew, burned bread, and a tankard for each of them. The ale was watery and bitter. Sif drank of it sparingly.

Loki only nursed his drink and didn’t touch the food at all, which Sif let pass without comment: he’d been known to eat little in the past, a habit that’d only increased since his return to Asgard. He whiled away the time by placing the coins he’d left on the table, concealed from view by his arms to all but Sif’s eyes, and examining them carefully. With an intent, watchful gaze he observed other business transactions going on in the room.

He was teaching himself, Sif gathered. What the different coins were called, how they were spoken of, what was their worth, to the end of better appearing they were from here.

The sun set, finally. Loki took another glance around and when satisfied got to his feet, Sif pushing herself up at once to follow.

The directions had told them to go to the ‘back room’. The first floor was comprised entirely of open space, scattered by chairs and tables and a single rotting staircase, at one end a curtain that when moved offered a glimpse of the kitchen beyond. On the other side, past the smoking hearth, was a closed door. Loki went straight to it and knocked.

There were muffled voices, and then the door was pulled open a burly man. He glowered at them, unimpressed.

Past the man in the center of the room stood another, much shorter and with weedy limbs, arms folded across his chest. He glanced at them past his companion.

“Best move along, folks,” he told them. “This space is spoken for, y’see. Waiting on an appointment.”

“Yes,” Loki squeezed past the guard with efficiency that left the thug gaping at the empty space where he’d been. “In fact, I believe it might be with us.”

Sif went to enter after him. The big man blocked her. She squared her shoulders and raised a hand to deter the one he put on her. He looked to meet her steely gaze and blinked in surprise when he found himself staring into the face of a woman.

Loki continued, voice cool, “We were given the information this was the place to go if we had interest in certain…transactions, regarding the upcoming auction.”

“Ah.” The scrawny man’s expression changed. “Is that so?” He waved a hand at the thug, who begrudgingly stepped aside. Sif shoved past and he shut the door behind her. “Then by all means, friends,” the first man grinned at them with stained teeth, “come on in, and let’s do us some business.”

The room wasn’t big enough to conceal any surprises – there was no ornament to speak of, only another hearth and a single long bench before it, and in the darkest corner some discarded pile covered in canvas.  Still, Sif turned to scan around them, hand moving toward the sword at her belt. The man who did all the speaking noticed and gave a chuckle.

“No mystery which of you two must be the muscle.” He turned to Loki. “Guess that must make you the negotiator then.”

“It’ll serve,” was all Loki responded, taciturnly. “But we haven’t come here to be tested or looked over. We’ve interest in the goods you’re selling, and if you’re not willing to discuss them with us then we’ll gladly go somewhere else.”

“Impatient man,” the weedy merchant observed. “Judging from that attitude, I’d say you’re the type that’s used to having your orders followed. Well, mate, there’s no need to put yourself out. If you’re buying than we’re selling. Assuming of course you can pass the muster.”

The two of them stood for a beat, eyeing one another over sharply.

Sif watched the exchange, anxious. She could tell something was going on, she just wasn’t sure what.

Finally Loki said, “We’re here for the purpose of making an illicit purchase from your lot before it goes to auction. Here,” he pulled a black purse out and threw it to the little man, who caught it deftly, “examine our money, if you like.”

Even from the outside Sif could tell the purse was far too full for the meager coins Loki had stolen. An illusion, then? Perhaps he’d stuffed it full of rocks and used glamor to disguise the contents.

Opening the bag, the man took a glance inside and gave a click with his tongue. He grinned and nodded, satisfied.

“That’ll buy you a fair pair of hands, or few,” he concluded. He pulled the bag tight and tossed it underhand back to Loki. “What are you in the market for, a young buck to pull your cart around? Or maybe a strong-boned lassie with the hips to be a good breeder? Or a half dozen chits, young ones, still babes, so you can raise ‘em up yourself to be whatever you like?”

As he spoke Sif’s breath drew into her lungs tightly, her blood running cold. There was only one type of ‘goods’ spoken about in these terms.

Slaves. These men were slavers. What they were selling at the forthcoming auction – what, apparently, the whole miasma of people were here in this port town to buy – were sentient beings kept under chain.

If the revelation of what they were discussing was a surprise to Loki, he showed no outward sign. His expression never wavered as he said, “Our purpose in this particular venture is multifold. Show us what you have and I’m certain we’ll find something. Provided, of course, you keep of good quality.”

That last sentence, said so carelessly, made Sif’s throat choke with distaste. The man they were dealing with however gave a brief shake of his head.

“Erm, not to irritate your patience any further, sirrah,” he murmured, scratching one cheek as he addressed Loki with the deference due to a potential customer, “but surely you must’ve realized, we’re a bit short on room in here.” He spread his hands. “This ain’t no stable.”

Loki eyed him unblinkingly. “You’re the middleman,” he realized out loud, quiet. “We’re diverted to you first so you can assure we’re not members of the law and worth time spent dealing with. And, what? Now you’ll give us further directions to the place where the goods are actually stored?”

“After a fashion,” the man told him, oddly. He looked to the burly thug that’d stood by silently this entire time, giving a curt nod and snapping his fingers. The bigger man moved toward the pile of canvas.

“You’ll have to forgive us, really. But the boss of our outfit is downright paranoid. Some people in our line of work…they _really_ don’t want to get arrested. Hell, I was with ‘em for over a year, before I was trusted enough to meet who I was working for.”

As his companion kept speaking the big man threw aside the gray canvas, revealing a humanoid figure carved out of rocky brown stone. Sif drew her head in surprise, recognizing the form for what it was.

The burly man pawed through the pocket of his coat and with some difficulty extracted a smooth stone, which he jammed into a hollow space in the front of the figure’s chest. He took a step back as immediately its eyes glowed a tawny yellow, and it straightened, loose limbs going straight as it stood at attention.

“A golem,” Loki noted. “Let me guess. Your employer had it constructed so it alone knows the way from you to them, and now we must follow the lead of this creature?”

The man nodded cheerfully. “That would be the shape of it. Can’t be surprised, can you? Selling outside the auction block is all cloak and dagger business. We get pinched, merchant or customer, it’s trouble for the lot of us.”

“Far more for you, I wager,” Loki said tartly. He drew the tails of his long coat towards him in a spontaneous gesture, as if he were still wearing a cape and making a flourish. “But we’ll follow your golem. And let us hope he does not lead us too far.”

“Couldn’t say myself,” the slaver said mildly. To the golem he called, “Well, go on then!” The two men moved out of the way as the mindless creature, nothing more than clay and rock brought to life by magic, marched forward in a straight line, barely stopping to open the door.

Without so much as a farewell to those they’d dealt with, or a glance at Sif, Loki followed.

It took Sif a moment to find her legs underneath her again, and by that time she had to run to catch up with them outside on the now dark and deserted street.

She reached to grab Loki’s arm above his elbow, her grip tight as she hauled him back. “Wait,” she hissed.

Loki stopped, turning to meet her with a puzzled look of surprise.

“Were you truly un-astonished by the discovery we were sent here to deal with slavers, or is it merely yet another example of your deftness at hiding your intentions and emotions?” Sif demanded, dropping her hand from his arm.

Loki’s face twisted into a scowl. “It was a possibility that strongly occurred to me, once I realized this was a world where such things existed,” he stated. “I’ve seen realms where slavery is a rampant institution, and the laws governing the business are oft strange and two-faced.” He shifted his weight, voice growing musing. “It is legal to own, to sell and to buy, but often there are laws surrounding high volumes of trade to the point where most slavers, or at least the greedy ones, feel obligated to break them and turn de facto outlaw in order to make high profit.”

Loki, in his wanderings and shadowy dealings, had travelled far further than Sif. The idea there could be enough worlds where slavery was so openly tolerated that he could make study of it was astonishing to her.

It did not exist on Asgard. The mortals her people had consorted with in days of old she knew had taken thralls, but as spoils of war. The dwarves were known to sometimes enslave debtors to work their mines for them. But civilized beings in her experience did not make a full-fledged business of buying and selling others – that was reserved for the likes of goblins or dark elves.

“And you said not a word to warn me, or…” Sif fell back on what Loki had said, perplexed. “What do you mean, you realized this was a world that had slavery? How could you have known?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, as he examined her with a look that was somewhat pitying. “Ah, _Sif_. The times when I am reminded you are but another shortsighted child of Asgard,” he sneered. “There have been signs around us all day. Amongst the crowd slaves moved about, some on their way to market, some merely in the company of their masters. Made evident by how they look not quite like the others around them, by their dress, or their downcast demeanor, the way they defer to those that own them. Some of them have been collared, bound, even shackled. But you haven’t seen a thing.”

Sif drew back, shamed even as she was offended. She thought over everything she’d seen. Had there truly been collared, browbeaten beings led about right at the corner of her eye? “If what you say is true, none of the others noticed this either,” she retorted.

Loki gave a mirthless laugh. “You’d call _that_ an excuse? That you missed the same things as Fandral the Dimwitted and Volstagg the Voracious?” He shook his head. “But that is how things are on Asgard, isn’t it? Everyone cares only for their own wellbeing,” he spat. “They stand oblivious to the suffering of others.”

Sif moved toward him again, breathing hard through her nostrils as she realized what he was saying. She was in no mood to quarrel about his lies and hypocrisy, however.

“Well, I know now,” she declared sharply. “What next?”

Loki looked truly baffled. “What next?” he repeated. “Nothing. We found out what’s being sold at the auction. It’s nothing we want, to say the least.”

Sif’s gaze went to where the golem still stood in place, waiting listlessly for them once they had stopped following. Her eyes swung back to Loki.

“No. We’re going to follow it,” she declared.

Loki was shaken and bemused, and then of course endeavored to hide it with cruelty. “I wasn’t aware the Lady Sif was in the market,” he remarked loftily. “Did you need someone to mend your dresses? A porter to carry your things? Or perhaps a dummy for target practice-”

“I want to see this with my own eyes,” she told him, crisp and cold. Sif moved so there was less than an inch between their faces and met his eyes directly, resolute. “If I have been so blind, then let me make amends. Do not use the existence of people in chains to taunt me one moment, and then bat it away from me the next, as if I’m too delicate to stomach such horrors.”

It was her turn to sneer. “After all this time, I had thought at the least you knew me better than that.”

Loki looked at her for a moment, then two, then three. His face was very different when at last he continued speaking.

“This isn’t a game or a dare, Sif.” His voice was quiet and deadly earnest, and for that time he sounded like the young warrior she had gone exploring with. “Not a challenge to try and prove your mettle. This is serious.”

“So am I.”

“Do you know how difficult it can be to spell-craft a golem? How expensive they must be, therefore, to commission?” He jerked his head. “This is no cutthroat trader at the goblin market. Someone who makes a living on the heads of others in this world can no doubt afford an army of mercenaries.”

“Are you afraid?” Sif demanded. “Because I’m not.”

“Why do you want to go to the den of a slaver?” Loki demanded right back, insistent. “Why do you want to see the pens where these people are kept, before being sold like cattle?”

“You were raised the same as I was,” Sif reminded him angrily. “In the highest circle of Asgard, under the rulings of the All-Father. Or have you been so corrupted that you no longer view such a thing as this as an atrocity?”

“Oh. No,” Loki said, slowly, gathering what she was on about. “We are not going to attempt freeing those slaves. Sif-”

“It would be dishonorable to do anything but!”

“ _Sif_ ,” he repeated, sharp. “It would be difficult in the undertaking to the excess. We couldn’t with just the two of us, and we haven’t the time-”

“I will not stand idly by in the face of it.” Somehow they had progressed to the point where they were shouting over one another. “Every vow I ever took as a warrior-”

“It wouldn’t do any good! You would free them and they’d have nowhere to go; this world would put them right back into chains again. And this is only one group of slaves – what of all the others? Do you want to go to war until every last one is freed? We can’t-”

“The All-Father says we are not to interfere in the affairs of the lesser realms, but even he is known to break that tenet in the name of doing what is right-”

“Sif, _I’m sorry_ ,” Loki finally broke in with a yell, cutting her off cold. She fell silent and he took a deep breath, sighing. “Do you think I like this any more than you do? But you know as well as I, we simply _can’t_ do this.”

She did know. That was probably why listening to him, admitting his council was right and wise, was so hard.

“This isn’t what we’re here for,” Loki continued, soft. “We aren’t here to change an entire realm. We’re here to try and find a way _home_.”

Sif stood there, wanting to drop her gaze but keeping her back straight instead. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed until her heart no longer thudded so.

“I still want to go,” she insisted, quietly. Loki opened his mouth so she quickly spoke over him. “I promise you that I will not try anything…untoward.” And it burned her as she took it even a step further: “I will follow your lead.” She drew a breath and managed not to shudder. “But this is my compromise. You _will_ let me see this.”

He gazed at her searchingly. “We can’t buy and set them all free, either,” he pointed out. “Not without attracting attention. Even if such a thing were possible – we hardly have enough coin.”

“Oh, don’t we?” Sif retorted. “Because I saw the reaction of that man back there, and he seemed to be under a different impression.”

“I can’t make _real_ money,” Loki reminded her, aggravated. “The best I can do is illusions, and those only last a short while.”

“So? They only _need_ to last a short while.”

“Believe me when I say paying with coins that vanish is something I’ve tried once before and regretted. The slavers will realize we tricked them, and then-”

“It won’t matter,” Sif interjected. “We’re leaving, remember?” Loki fell silent. “So it doesn’t matter what we do, because we won’t be here to pay the consequences.”

She watched him, heart in her throat. He thought awhile then said, finally, “It will work and avoid suspicion, if we only buy one.”

One. One slave, set free from bondage. All they could manage. A voice within Sif cried out in indignation; she did her best to ignore it.

“If that’s all you will permit me, then so be it,” she said. “I’ll take it.”

She turned to tell the golem to continue onward but was stopped by Loki reaching out her arm, getting her attention. His fingers barely brushed her sleeve but Sif recoiled as if he’d grabbed her.

“Do you really think it’ll make any difference?” he asked. His face tilted, giving scrutiny from beneath half-lidded eyes. “Being able to set a single slave free? Will it be better than nothing – or is it merely enough to satisfy your pains of conscience?”

Sif set her jaw. “Whichever one it is to me,” she told him, “that is nothing that need concern you.”

She waited for him to look hurt, affronted. He did not. He merely slowly nodded his acceptance.

He turned to address the golem. “Continue.”

Sif wasn’t sure how long it was that the stone construct led them through the back-alleys. At last they came to a large building that from the outside looked clearly abandoned. She was surprised and suspicious when it brought them not to the front door but an entrance in the back to an underground cellar. But she didn’t say anything, holding her peace as she kept watch with a wary eye.

The cellar went down and down, deeper than she could have expected. It turned into a dank stone tunnel that reminded her of a sewer, the walls slimy and dripping. She thought she heard the faint sloshing of water up ahead.

The golem suddenly stopped walking, the light in its eyes an eerie spot of bright in the gloom.

There was the sound of boots on the wet stone floor.

“Well, well. More buyers? This is turning into a quite the busy week for me.”

It was the voice of a woman, coarse, a fluid accent that sounded strange to Sif’s ears; whatever language it was native to it was not one that the All-Tongue recognized. She moved forward out of the thickest shadows and revealed her appearance.

She stood what was about average height for a mortal female, which meant she was a head shorter than Sif. She wore tight breeches, boots that came up over her knees, a miniscule top hidden by a long and thick overcoat with a fur-trimmed collar. But these were details that were secondary at best.

Her skin was a turquoise-blue color, every inch of her, and the light from the torch she held in one hand glinted off the texture showing it to be scaled. She had webbed fingers, long nails like claws. Her eyes were so dark Sif could barely make out the pupil. Her lank hair was pale white, worked into a series of thin braids that lay flat across her scalp and fell down one side of her neck.

Sif’s fist closed around the hilt of her sword. The woman grinned, showing teeth that curved at the end sharply.

“My man sent you?”

“He did,” Loki informed her, agreeing. “You are the merchant in charge?”

“Indeed I am. And perhaps now you understand my obsession with secrecy.” Still smiling coolly, she spread her arms. “Alaria. I won’t ask your names. I don’t need to know them.” She made a curt gesture to the golem and said a word in a mystery language – its eyes went dull as it powered down. Her manner was brisk as she returned attention to them. “So. What brings you to me and my wares? What precisely is it you would like to buy?”

“That is my lady’s affair,” Loki said, holding his hands out, and Sif only just stopped herself from giving away by shooting him a surprised look. “I’m here to negotiate on her behalf. Show us what you have, and we shall see.”

Alaria stuck her jaw out slightly with a look of begrudging rational, as if it was an arrangement she was not unused to. “All right. Come with me.”

They followed her, Sif stealing a glance over at Loki, trying to meet his eyes. Wondering if he’d any explanation for this woman’s strange deformity; if he did, for the moment he remained mute on the subject.

Rounding a corner they came to a halt as they reached the tunnel’s end, and Sif found herself facing the source of the watery sounds.

There was a pit sunk in the stone, filled with water, with several blocks jutting out of it for sitting on. The one side that didn’t end in a wall was blocked off by a large iron grate. It was a cage. And it was filled with dozens upon dozens, maybe even a hundred people.

They sat crowded together. Some of them were in the water all the way to their necks. Others curled in corners, or clung to the edges of the walls. Some of them cowered, fearing, crying. Some stared with hardness to their eyes, defiant. And some merely stayed where they were, motionless, eyes dull and faces blank.

There were men, women and children, though the ages seemed to favor the young. They were slight of build and long of limb, with flowing fine hair and a sameness to their tilted eyes and pointed features. They were all pale, naked, and where the light hit them their skin would glint in places.

Like it was shining off of scales.

Sif _had_ seen people like this throughout Kraken’s Cove, she realized. Even without paying attention she had noted, in an absent way, how the touch of the inhuman about their faces made them stand out a bit in the crowd. Whatever they were, it was clear they were of one race; an entire race born into slavery.

Loki murmured under his breath, intended for Sif’s ears only: “Mermish.”

Sif nodded barely, to show she understood. Thus explained the presence of the water, the narrow and streamlined features.

This entire realm was built on the ocean. It came as no surprise they had mermaids. And mermaids would eventually breed with men – and sometimes, produce children.

What they were looking at was evidently the eventual result.

Alaria indicated the cage. “Like the setup? It’s quite ingenious, if I do say so myself. Most slavers have to keep their lots on a ship until just before auction.

She took a step forward – most of those inside the cage moved back. There were a few whimpers.

“Have to keep them wet, after all. Even after generations of breeding, their skin has to be moistened a few times a day…” She reached inside the cage to grab hold of a long black metal object shaped like an oversized ladle, which she used to splash a few stragglers near the farthest walls. She gave a chuckle. “I can attest to that.”

“I’m certain.” Loki noted, wryly, “The wrong person gets one look at you, and you’re on the other side of those bars.”

If Alaria was offended by the observation she gave no sign. She only huffed and nodded.

Sif started, eyeing Alaria with even greater disbelief and distaste. Her fishlike skin was a throwback, and she herself was of mermaid descent. And she made her living trafficking in people that but for the grace of fate she would be among?

It was such a shame, Sif thought, they were not on a more civilized world, where it would be within her rights to grab the woman by the hair and thrash her.

“Is that why you prefer to do your business underhand?” Loki questioned.

“I do plenty of my business out there,” Alaria retorted, pointing. “I just make certain to stay out of sight of any who isn’t as dirty as I am. But, you know how it is. I sell on the block, I have to give a cut to the auctioneer. And I have to pay the city, once when I bring in my cargo and then again as the tax from the sale.” She smirked. “But here, we can set the price just between the two of us without all the risks of bidding. I make good money, you get what you know you want and possibly for an even cheaper price. Everybody’s happy.”

“Except them,” Sif remarked, indicating the cage full of slaves. Alaria followed her glance and gave her a darkly amused look.

“Believe me,” was her dismissive response, “by now, they’re used to it.”

For a moment all was quiet, save for the sounds of water dripping, and the subdued weeping of the people inside the dungeon. And then Loki punctured it, sliding forward and leaning to speak close and clearly by Sif’s ear.

“Well, my lady?” he inquired of her, smooth. “Which of these will be your choice?”

There was sickness in the pit of Sif’s stomach as she stared into the cage – at all the faces that stared back at her. She was supposed to look at all these miserable, captive people, and single out the one among them who would be saved.

Loki had known, she realized. He knew it would be a nightmare decision from the moment she stated her plan. He had tried to steer her from it, but stopped short of truly warning her.

Sif turned to him, face carefully neutral but all her anger, white hot and brutal, in her eyes.

In response Loki merely looked back at her, and gave a small smile.

Sif twisted her gaze away again before her revulsion could grow to be too much to bear.

Though it was torment, she looked inside the cage again. Her eyes swept the assembly with a mounting sense of desperation. How was she supposed to make the choice? What criteria could she possibly use? Pick out the youngest, the weakest, the sick? Or choose someone stronger, someone who’d be far more likely to find success in freedom?

Casting about, her gaze settled at random on a woman near the center of the cage. She was young in mortal terms, probably, though no longer a child. Her wavy hair was auburn and came past her waist, the edges of it floating in the water. She was among those who looked neither afraid nor angry, her face impassive and uncaring.

What had her life been like before she found herself locked underground in a wet cage? Was she a stranger to it, or had she already been in places such as this before? Did she have children that’d been taken from her, a lover she was unable to stay with? Could she remember her own mother or had she been pulled away soon after birth, the way that livestock sometimes were?

“Her,” Sif said, for once she focused on the single slave’s face, she could look away no more.

Her voice was weak and cracking, but Loki covered for her. With sublime confidence he pointed to the slave Sif indicated. “That one. Let’s have a better look.”

Alaria moved swiftly, producing a heavy key to unlock a small door in the iron grate. She waded in, unafraid of reprisal from her wares – they flinched and dove away from her touch. Her webbed fingers wrapped hard around the chosen girl’s forearm and she dragged her forth.

Once the door was securely shut again Alaria put her back to it, positioning the slave in front of her as she showed off her physical attributes to Sif and Loki as though she were no more than a horse.

“She has a nice face,” the slaver remarked, blandly. With one hand she forcefully tipped the other woman’s chin upward, tugging at her lips. “All her teeth, good condition. No fangs.”

She ran both hands down the sides of the other’s body, hard, like she was trying to smooth out her skin from shoulder to hip. “A bit narrow, but she’ll make a decent breeder. And look.” Grabbing both wrists she forced the girl to display her forearms to them. “Nice cream-colored flesh. Barely any scale patches – but just enough, to make sure she won’t be running very far should she try to get away.”

“Yes, very nice,” Loki remarked, matching Alaria’s mercenary attitude perfectly. “Those aren’t strong shoulders though. She’s definitely more a house servant. But then, that is what you were after, isn’t it Sif?”

She shot him a warning glance before she looked away. She couldn’t be a part of this discussion anymore. It was unbearable.

“Forgive us. It appears I’ve insulted her,” Loki told Alaria. “She hates to be part of something as low as the exchanging of coin. So – how much?”

“For this one? I give you what would be the starting bid at auction: five hundred shells.”

“An _optimistic_ starting bid, it seems.” To Sif’s consternation, Loki was going the extra length by haggling. “She isn’t worth even half that.”

“You accuse me of trying to pull a fast one?” Alaria retorted.

“Oh, your goods are of healthy and fine stock, that I have no doubt. But this one here – she’s average. Nothing extra to garner your attention. And that’s only amongst _your_ cargo. Throw her up on the auction block, alongside the finest your competitors have to offer? She vanishes.” He made a gesture. “You’ll be lucky if you give her away packaged with one of the rest. Two hundred and eighty. We’ll give you that for her, and that’s a gift.”

Alaria rubbed under her chin with the back of her hand, frowning. “I think four hundred and eighty. I like that much better.”

“Three hundred and ten.”

“You seem to be under the impression I’m new to this. But, you see, I’ve been in this business a long time. My first sale was my younger siblings.” She pinched together her fingertips. “Four hundred fifty. Don’t push your luck.”

Loki’s eyes met Sif’s, and she silently pleaded with him to stop. She understood what he was doing but she couldn’t stand there and listen to it all night.

“We’ll give you four hundred and thirty shells,” Loki settled. “If you throw in a set of clothes.”

Alaria nodded, slow, finding that to be acceptable. “Done.”

Sif helped the still silent, apathetic slave pull the sack dress Alaria provided on over her head, while Loki counted out what she knew to be fake coins from his purse by the fistful. The money clinked as it slid through his hands and into Alaria’s, and Sif couldn’t help but admire the detail.

The slaver grinned openly, testing one coin between her fanged canines. It held up. Pocketing the payment in a cloth bag of her own, she waved them farewell.

“I trust you can find your way out.” She turned then paused while in profile, giving them another cold smile. “A _pleasure_ doing business with you.”

Sif couldn’t be out of there fast enough. Their purchase showed no reluctance in following between them, though her breathing was shallow. No doubt just about any future looked brighter after Alaria’s hands.

Sif wanted to tell her all right there, to take her by the hand and tell her to run. That by the will of Asgard no man or woman would ever own her again. But she knew it wasn’t the time. First they had to get somewhere safe.

As the three of them kept walking, quickly, without looking at him Sif said to Loki, “That was a very good job you did back there. You were quite convincing.”

Loki’s voice was tight as he replied. “Don’t compliment me on it. I beg of you,” he said quietly, staring ahead. “It made me ill enough as it is.”

She stopped, slightly mollified. They resumed the rest of their journey in silence.

*

If Darcy had been asked to guess how Volstagg planned to get food and drink without any money, she would’ve had to guess begging. Maybe a dine and dash.

Like a lot about this little trip of theirs so far though the Asgardian managed to surprise her. Cheerfully, and without showing any sign of a second thought, he swaggered into the largest most tightly-packed pub he could find, an uncertain Darcy trailing in his wake.

Towering above most men, his flaming red hair and beard bright even in the darkened interior, Volstagg put his hands on his hips and in a booming voice challenged any man who considered himself worthy to a drinking contest. The loser, of course, would pay for the round.

Half the crowd laughed at them but one by one a few sea dogs got up to try and prove their mettle. If there was one thing a sailor thought he was good at, it was drinking.

What happened next would’ve been obvious to anyone who’d ever been to dinner on Asgard, a party at Avengers Mansion, or made the mistake of trying to get between Thor and a frozen strawberry daiquiri. Darcy hung as near as she could and tried to make herself invisible as a beaming Volstagg drank one man after another under the table.

In between contenders Volstagg would give good-natured remarks, pounding the flat of his hand on the table as he laughed uproariously. He told stories of adventures and exploits he’d been a part of in the past, drawing a bigger and bigger crowd as more people leaned in to listen.

As the time winded on he would keep suggesting ways to up the stakes: the loser of the next round would buy the winner a loaf of bread. The loser of the next round would buy the winner a plate of cheese. The loser of the next round would buy the winner a kettle of fish. And on it went.

Volstagg came by his girth honestly, but Darcy was more than content to nibble at his leavings. Hardened men of the sea appreciated a fellow who could hold his liquor. Volstagg would drink until another man fell off his chair, and then his crewmates would laugh and buy another him round.

The bar was getting fuller, and more and more people were getting very drunk and very loud as they joined the tightknit mass near the center. Finally, the pub’s owner had had enough. With an obviously forced grin on his face he picked Volstagg and Darcy out, plucked at their arms and led them over to a table in the corner near the bar.

“Good sir and madam, if you’d be so kind as to sit here…dinner will be on the house, all the wine and ale you can drink.” His voice lowered to a hiss. “And then once you’ve had your fill you can _leave_.”

Volstagg chortled, lifting his glass in toast to the man’s back as he left them. “Can’t get service much better than that!” He turned to Darcy, pleased with himself. “What do you think, milady?”

“I think you’d be dangerous to have around an all-you-can-eat buffet,” Darcy replied, frankly, as she helped herself to a roll. There was a pewter plate in front of her loaded with chicken and potatoes and grapes. She wasn’t sure if she was brave enough yet to try the ale. It smelled kind of…off.

Volstagg tucked in without hesitation. “I hope the others got the chance to dine while they were off fending for themselves.”

“But if they didn’t, you won’t object to a second meal, right?” Darcy couldn’t resist saying. Her friend shrugged his concession as he picked at his teeth. “How do you think the rest of them made out?”

“Well. Who knows what Loki and Sif found. But I imagine Fandral wouldn’t have let up until he and Hogun were successful. He’s a man of his word that way.”

“You mean he would never live it down if they didn’t get what they were looking for. I just hope after all this we actually have a way to get to the treasure.”

“My dearest Darcy,” he said, calm and bright, “have some faith. If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout the centuries is that when your back’s to the wall in situations like these, fate will provide.” He paused with a pensive smile. “You know, I can’t wait to see it.”

She took a break from chewing on a drumstick. “See what?”

“The treasure! What do you suppose will be a part of it? Diamonds and rubies, great big casks of gold…you know, it’s been _ages_ since we’ve sought out a proper hoard. This has made for a nice change of pace for us.”

Considering their adventure so far had consisted of a lot of walking, talking, drinking and the occasional chance to make a threat against someone’s physical person, where Darcy was she didn’t think it seemed like the Asgardians were doing all that much differently from normal. Maybe it was the change in locale.

As Volstagg continued eating she leaned to one side to look past him out the door. “It’s getting dark.” Looking around for a napkin she gave up and wiped her hands on her skirt. “We should probably start heading to meet with the others.”

“Oh, all right.” Volstagg’s tone was reluctant. “But at least let me finish the meat and cheese?”

It was already after sundown by the time they made it out of the pub, and Darcy was concerned that neither of them seemed to really remember how they’d gotten there. There had been a lot of meandering involved. And now the way was dark, the only light from torches stuck up outside a few establishments that lined the main road.

“Don’t worry.” Volstagg scoffed. “What are they going to do, leave without us?”

He was perfectly carefree with the idea that if they kept walking they would find their way eventually. His strides were heavy as he went boldly through the streets. Darcy hung close, arms wrapped around her front, glancing from side to side for figures lurking in the shadows.

Volstagg was saying something else about how their friends may not be finished yet with their own errands, something Darcy didn’t quite catch – when she looked back over her shoulder and realized they were being followed. She froze.

“Volstagg.”

“Hmm?” His gaze seemed lazy when he met her eyes, but as he took in the expression on her face and the way she stared intently behind him, he instantly became attentive. His pace slowed to a halt. “How many of them are there?”

He didn’t even bother looking back for himself. One hand reached to loosen the axe from his belt.

“Um,” Darcy chanced a squint, “three? Maybe four.”

“Is _that_ all.”

That statement was the only warning she, or the men who’d been stalking them, got. The next thing Darcy knew Volstagg’s axe was completely free, held firm in palm as he turned with a warrior’s yell.

He went right into a swing, knocking the knife from the hand of one attacker so hard that it cut into him, and the momentum dropped him to one knee cursing. With the flat side of his axe Volstagg battered into the chest of the next he could reach, sending him back flying to the ground senseless. The third man barely had a chance to draw his sword before Volstagg parried with a fierce two-handed blow from above.

Darcy had moved so her back was to the wall of the nearest building, peering to watch from around the corner. She gaped. “Whoa.”

There was the singing chink of metal on metal, but one human thug was no match for an Asgardian armed with brute strength and an axe. Down he went as well, hands pressed to the furiously bleeding gash on his shoulder.

The first man was starting to get back up, shaking, drawing a pistol with his unwounded hand. The fourth attacker, who had until then been hiding back in the shadows, rushed Volstagg from behind and tried leaping up onto his shoulders, hands going around his neck.

As Volstagg bent forward, grappling with him, the pistol pointed at him by the other went off.

“Ah! That stings,” Volstagg complained in a roar.

He succeeded in flipping the man still hanging onto his back forward and violently off of him, grabbing his arms so he could pile-drive him into the ground. Finally he went after the man with the now empty gun, grabbing the weapon and tossing it aside when his opponent tried desperately to use it as a club. He punched the man hard in the stomach with his free hand, then used the handle of his axe to bludgeon him in the head while he was already dropping, to ensure he stayed down.

Turning back in Darcy’s direction, Volstagg tugged at the comically tiny looking hole in his pants on his upper thigh. He was barely bleeding, the only sign of his pain the tight curl to his fingers.

“Damned annoying little thing,” Volstagg panted. Mentally Darcy added ‘musket balls’ to the list of things Asgardians were mostly immune to.

Head turning, the warrior took in the five unconscious or groaning men scattered around him on the ground. “Well?” he demanded loudly, looking a mixture of irritated and eager. “Is that all you’ve got, lads? Who’s next?”

“Um. About that.” Moving back out from her hiding place so she could stand close to him again, Darcy pointed.

Volstagg looked up to see that somehow while he’d been distracted felling five men, they had been surrounded by thirty.

“Oh.” He looked far less eager now, and far more concerned. Taking a step back he reached for Darcy’s arm to pull her in closer, trying nobly to keep her at his back.

They gazed speechlessly across the line of faces, pockmarked and scarred, some growling or sneering and every man with at least one weapon in hand. They may’ve been mortal, but they looked like they knew how to fight, and Volstagg would have a hard time taking them all on at once.

“Where did these guys all come from?” Darcy exclaimed desperately, as much at a loss as he.

Even as he looked pale Volstagg kept his axe up in one hand, held at an angle and ready. “If it’s money you cutthroats are after, I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” he tried.

“Is that a fact?” A man in a black vest with a greasy mustache came forward. “That’s funny. You see, back at the tavern, my men tell me they heard you both going on about treasure.”

Darcy exchanged a glance with Volstagg, and she almost groaned out loud. How stupid could they have gotten? Having a loud conversation about treasure in the middle of a room filled with lowlife sailors. They might as well have painted a target on their backs – in fact, it looked like they _had_.

“Oh no,” Volstagg said, half-heartedly, with an awkward shrug. “You must be mistaken.”

That drew a chorus of mutters and laughs from the gang that surrounded them.

Their leader shook his head, leering at them. “I really don’t think so.”

Darcy had her hands up automatically even though no one had threatened her. Well, _directly_ threatened her. Yet. “Look, we are after a treasure, but we don’t have any of it yet,” she explained. “We’re still on our way to look for it. We don’t even have the map yet!”

“It’s true,” Volstagg chimed in. “Anyway, who knows – it’s supposed to be a legendary treasure, so maybe it’s just…legend.” He trailed off, both he and Darcy cringing.

“A likely story,” one of the men snarled. He looked at the leader. “Captain, I say we find a way of making them talk.”

“‘Captain’?” Darcy repeated, unable to help herself. “What are you guys, a bunch of seafaring bandits?” At the amused and unfriendly looks the assembled gave in response to that, she groaned. “You _are_. Great.” She glanced to Volstagg. “Out of all the taverns in town, we get the one where a ship full of bandits are getting their drink on.”

There was a beat. She added, with a sullen pout, “And not one of them looks remotely like Johnny Depp.”

“Enough!” the captain ordered, holding up his hand. “The way I see it, there’s only two ways about things here.” He stepped closer, drawing his sword to point it at them menacingly. “Either you’re lying, and you already know where this treasure is, in which case you’re going to lead us to it. Or you are telling the truth, in which case you do know where a _map_ is, and you’re going to kindly lead us to that instead. Now which is it?”

Darcy and Volstagg shared a frantic look.

“Um,” she started, “uh.”

“Ah,” he stammered similarly, “well.”

The brigand captain growled, pressing the sword over both their throats, as he repeated, _“Which is it?"_

Darcy shook her head helplessly. “I think it’s…”

“Neither,” Volstagg suddenly, abruptly finished.

“What?” both Darcy and the captain started to say at the same time, but were cut off by Volstagg forcibly butting the man in the head.

Pandemonium broke out as the captain crumpled and most of the startled bandits tried to take on Volstagg at once.

As the tide of angry, smelly men wielding various heavy and sharp things surged forward, Darcy shrieked and instinctively cowered, hands shielding her face. And then she yelped in surprise when Volstagg grabbed her and lofted her bodily over his shoulder, carrying her caveman-style with one arm while wielding the axe with the other and managing to barrel his way through to make a clear path.

Darcy contributed the best she could, which was to say she tried not to kick and flail so much.

Their assailants collided against each other as Volstagg forced their way to freedom, getting tangled up and causing a momentary delay. A few of the men were trying to right their dazed captain, who had been all but trampled in the confusion.

Volstagg didn’t stop running for several minutes. He didn’t need Darcy, still hoisted above him, to tell him that the group of men had picked themselves up and was in hot pursuit.

“Hey,” Darcy noticed all of a sudden, “I think I recognize where we are!”

“Can you run?” Volstagg wheezed.

“Um, yes.”

“Excellent.” He lowered her and she slid down quickly. “Let’s go and find our friends!” As soon as her boots hit the ground the two of them bolted fast as they could, heading in the general direction of a certain well.

*

The town square was deserted. This late at night no doubt even the guards that were supposed to be on duty had decided they had better to do and snuck off. The occasional drunkard or harlot wandered through, but in absence of any company it was not long before both types staggered or strutted off respectively.

By some luck, and perhaps no small amount of prodigious skill, Fandral and Hogun had managed to lose the men that were chasing them. Fandral was counting it as a success. After all, they had the map.

Hogun was of a different opinion.

“Those men saw our faces,” he was reminding his companion darkly, as they waited at the appointed place for the others. “They’re not just going to forget this.”

“What does it matter whether or not they do?” Fandral chortled, uncaring. His very attitude was one of the self-gratifying indolence following the wake of victory. Already he was planning how best to relate the tale to the maidens back on Asgard to highlight his skill and fortitude. “That can hardly be of our concern!”

“By tomorrow, all of the governor’s men will be looking for a group of thieves in possession of what amounts to a sacred relic,” Hogun insisted. “We haven’t been doing a very good job of staying hidden. There will be witnesses. They’ll know we went to the cave to see the blind man. They may come looking for us.”

He waited for Fandral to turn back to face him, the blond man now frowning with gradually dawning uncertainty, before he finished with what concerned him most:

“They might even send a ship after us if we find a vessel to cross the waves.”

“All right,” Fandral was forced to admit, the words coming slowly. “So not… _quite_ as perfect and uneventful a series of events as we may have hoped. There is, perhaps, a significant chance that men of the law may now be after us.”

Hogun nodded sternly.

Fandral clapped his hands, refusing to give up on his exuberance completely. “But this isn’t the first time we’ve run afoul of an army, or what amounts to the rightful leadership of one of the lesser realms! All it means is that we have to stay one step ahead of them. Now that we’ve got our map, we simply set sail and get to the treasure before they can catch up.”

“We still don’t have a boat,” Hogun ground out flatly.

Fandral’s grin fell as he puzzled over how best to counter that argument.

They were interrupted from their debate by the sound of three sets of feet hurrying toward them. The two Asgardians turned to spot Loki and Sif from across the square walking to meet them briskly, accompanied by a petite female stranger.

“There you both are,” Sif remarked with quiet relief.

“Yes, it’s certainly good to see,” Loki said. “I half expected you to have wandered off somewhere, and we’d add to our troubles in having to find you.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Where once Fandral’s retort would have been cheery, when he made it to the sorcerer his voice was condemning and notably cool. Immediately he turned to take in the newcomer with a pleasantly surprised smile. “And who is this fine-boned creature?”

The woman dropped her gaze, strands of hair hanging over her face. “I am whatever you want me to be, sir,” she answered quietly.

Fandral laughed, mistaking her intent. “Oh, my! But how charming!”

“Fandral,” Sif cut him off, harsh. He looked at her, startled by her brusque tone, and she swallowed. “She is…”

“A slave,” Loki interjected. While Sif was abashed, sickened, he was completely matter of fact. His only emotion on the subject seemed to be one of annoyance. “Sif bought her.”

Sif stared at him, affronted. “…I _did not_ ,” she protested with angry vehemence.

“Well it was your idea,” he countered, frank.

Fandral had taken a step back, thunderstruck. “A what?” He tried to meet the woman’s eyes again, questioningly; when she only lowered her head further his face grew pale. “Good lord, what’s the meaning of this?”

“Where did you get a slave?” Hogun asked more productively, though no less repulsed.

Loki glanced at Sif. She gave him a baleful look in response, before clearing her throat to address their fellows. “This is a slave world,” she revealed. “None of us noticed I daresay because we did not know what to look for.” She purposefully didn’t glance at Loki as she said it. “But once aware, I’m afraid the signs are…everywhere. There is an entire market here. A tradition.”

“It’s what’s being sold at the auction that all these travelers we have noticed are here for,” Loki stated. “They’ve come all this way to buy and sell slaves.” He gestured to the young woman. “People like her.”

“And we’ve decided to join them?” Fandral demanded.

“I wanted to have her in order so that we could _set her free_ ,” Sif declared, stepping forward. Sharply she whirled, bending so that she could meet the other woman’s eyes. “Do you hear me?”

Beseechingly Sif reached to cup her hands, as the other stared back perplexed. “I know this may be hard for you to believe, but this is not our world. These are not our laws. I do not own you – none of us do.” Her voice lowered as she turned it into an oath. “And no one ever will again. You are _free_.”

“That’s all well and good,” Fandral interrupted, “and in principle I’m certainly not against it. But won’t we attract a bit of attention if we go around freeing slaves?”

“ _Now_ you worry about attracting attention?” Hogun asked him, disbelieving. Loki frowned at them.

“What does that mean?”

Sif glanced back again. “Did you have any luck locating the map?”

Fandral brightened. “Yes!” he pronounced grandly. “In fact…” Reaching within his doublet he produced the parchment which he unrolled carefully yet with a flourish. “We _have_ it.”

Loki stared, reaching out to seize the ends of the document. “ _How_?”

“We got it from the governor,” Fandral explained happily.

“Stole it, you mean,” Hogun corrected.

Sif and Loki both gazed at them in astonishment and some amount of horror. Fandral sighed in the other warrior’s direction, peeved.

“My friend, you’re telling it all wrong.”

“Have you both gone entirely mad?” Loki asked. “You stole this from the governor’s house?”

“No,” Fandral corrected, pointed: “From his office.”

Loki took a pause. “I’ve no doubt that somehow makes it even _worse_.”

“Look here, what’re you berating us about? Far be it for me to throw stones, but everyone knows _your_ reputation.” Loki stiffened as Fandral sneered at him. “Where I’m concerned, you haven’t got a leg to stand on.” Fandral leaned in, hotly: “Are you really going to tell me when it came down to it you would’ve had another plan? I’m quite certain that if you had been there-”

“Yes. I would’ve ultimately stolen it too.” Loki breathed in. “Quietly. Covertly. Without being seen. What did _you_ do?”

Fandral’s voice faltered a bit. “Climbed in through a window and attracted the attention of a clerk, then a maid, and several guards.”

“The law of this city is going to be after us now,” Sif realized out loud, teeth clenched.

Loki turned on Fandral. He spoke in a perfectly even voice, which made his anger all the more unsettling. “Of all the things you could’ve done. You vacuous-minded, boorish, preening _fool_.”

“Well, for all your _quick mind_ , Prince Of Lies, you haven’t kept yourself out of much trouble,” came Fandral’s retort. He stepped forward so he and Loki were all but nose to nose. “ _Your_ exploits for the day have hardly gone any better!”

Loki stared, indignation raising his voice to a shout. He closed the gap between the other man. “Far as I know I haven’t done anything to actively _add_ to our troubles! Considering we wouldn’t even _be_ here in the first place, if not for what you did-”

“And of the two of us, who is the one who has actually contributed to trying to get us home again?"

“You stole a map!” Loki accused.

“ _You_ bought a _slave!_ ” Fandral yelled right back.

Out of nowhere it seemed, Darcy and Volstagg appeared, having rounded the corner from their direction into the square while the rest of the group was otherwise occupied.

The two newcomers didn’t stop to chat. Instead they burst in and slipped in-between where the others had gathered, out of breath but showing no intention to cease their running.

“Guys, we’ve got to go,” Darcy shouted, words clipped and short. Volstagg kept moving and she endeavored to stay right on his heels. “Bandits are chasing us!”

Argument completely interrupted, Fandral and Loki glanced at them and then turned to look back at the way they’d come from in bemusement. Simultaneously Hogun and Sif were doing the same.

Immediately what they saw was a small brigade of armed and vicious looking men, making all the sounds of a classic angry mob and waving arms angrily.

“Oh,” Loki spoke for all of them, quick, as they stared at what approached in alarm. Sif reached to grab the slave woman’s arm to lead her and the five turned as one, running the same way Darcy and Volstagg beat their hasty exit, fast as their feet would carry them.

*

By the time the group had reached the edge of town they had managed to lose their pursuers. Though they felt safe enough to quit running, they continued moving at a brisk pace, glancing back every once in a while.

Clustered together they walked two by two, Loki leading the way, hand outstretched with a small glowing ball he’d summoned in front of him.

“We can’t go back to that town now,” Volstagg said dejectedly, once they’d all finished comparing notes. “The men of the law will be looking for us, and so will the crew of that bandit ship.”

“As will the slaver we cheated, most likely,” Sif added.

Fandral queried, “So, where do we go? If nothing else, we need a safe place to pass the night.”

For a moment no one said anything, the lot of them all stealing glances at one another. Darcy finally broke the silence with a groan.

“We’re walking all the way back to the cave of the mildly creepy blind guy, aren’t we?”

“Unless anyone else has a better idea,” Loki murmured in response. The orb in his hand cast his face in a sickly green color.

No one did have any better ideas, as it turned out, so there was nothing left but to once more make the long walk. This time not only was it all but pitch black out, the sand was damp and slightly treacherous from high tide.

When they finally reached the cave the Asgardians hung back at first, looking for the beggar, but Darcy was past caring about waiting for an invite. She ran instead and collapsed on her knees onto the first relatively soft-looking surface she could find.

Instead the cave was bright as day. Lifting her head up Darcy squinted, but couldn’t make out where the light was coming from.

Simultaneously the Asgardians and their new Mermish companion trailed in, heads turning, as the beggar stepped forth from his hiding space.

He looked down at Darcy. Even with his face half-hidden, his wry amusement was palpable.

“Well. If I had to guess, I would say your party has already made steps towards having yourselves an adventure.”

“Oh yes,” was Fandral’s glib retort. “We made new friends.” Picking his way over to a large trunk, he shoved the pile of coins that had been covering it off and sat himself down. “Unfortunately, we wound up on the bad sides of most of them.”

“By all means,” the beggar said, flatly, “make yourselves comfortable.” His head turned in the direction of the recently acquired slave, who trembled. “And who is this friend?”

“A good question,” Loki murmured. Banishing his light he stepped closer, canting his head to one side as he tried speaking to her politely. “You never did tell us your name.”

Her voice wavered slightly. “M-my name is whatever you want it be, milord.”

There was a silence during which everyone else present was suitably appalled. Darcy got back to her feet in a huff.

“Okay. Fuck this world,” she said decisively. She stormed over to the other woman, meeting her right in the eye since they were of similar height. She stared at her and the other leaned back a little. “You _have_ a name already,” Darcy insisted. “Even if it’s not one that’s regularly used or whatever. Just go on and tell it to us.”

The young woman swallowed. “Siún,” she said.

“There, you see?” Darcy tried to be reassuring, even though she was aware it probably sounded like she was scolding her. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Sif approached as well. “Siún. What I said to you before, it’s true. We aren’t your masters. And if there’s anything we can do to help you…”

“Although,” Darcy interjected. “Actually, you could probably help us out a bit too. Maybe by explaining a few things.” She glanced at the others. “I know I can’t be the only one confused about where this whole ‘entire race of people enslaved’ thing came from.”

Siún leaned back further, though this time it was in disbelief. “You really aren’t from around here,” she exclaimed, astonished.

Looking over at the beggar, the man only shrugged at her, as if in commiseration against these strange and ignorant travelers.

“Nope. I’m Darcy.” Darcy pointed at her friends. “This is Loki, this is Sif, and these guys-”

Volstagg stepped forward, chest puffing automatically as he spoke for the Warriors Three, introducing them: “Hogun the Grim, Fandral the Dashing, and Volstagg the Valiant.” He bowed his head a bit, giving Siún an encouraging smile. “At your service.”

“They’re Asgardians. And I’m Midgard…ian,” Darcy continued. “We came here by accident from a world, uh, beyond the sky.” She cringed, shrugging. “We basically know nothing about this place.”

“Oh.” Siún was blinking, overwhelmed, but she seemed capable of accepting that. Moving slowly she went over to a small wooden stool not far away among the cavern’s treasures and sat herself down. Bending forward she gazed at her hands. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything, I imagine,” Loki said. “Perhaps it’s best if you should start at the beginning.”

She nodded, movement still slow as if she was in something of a daze. “They call us the Children of Amphitrite. Our people have been in chains since as far back as anyone can remember. It’s said it all began with the beginning of our civilization, shortly after the Founders came. Sailors and ships would sometimes go into mermaid waters, and when they did…sometimes they would bring something back.”

“Half-merfolk children, you mean,” Fandral surmised.

Siún nodded again. “There was no magic in our world to begin with. There were tales, but no one could ever use it. Until the Children of Amphitrite were born. Mermaids are a magical race…and we inherited their gifts from them.”

“At first, it began as what was thought to be a reasonable precaution.” Either out of sympathy or for some other reason the beggar joined in, helping Siún to relate the tale. “With only one race capable of using magic the rest were afraid of their powers. What they would do if left uncontrolled. So they rounded them up, put them in captivity.”

“And it’s been that way after since,” Sif finished grimly.

It was the beggar’s turn to nod. “From ever since that day there has arisen a booming trade in slavery. And anyone born of Mermish stock has no place but in chains. It is _illegal_ for them to be freed.”

From where he lingered Loki closed his eyes, breathing out in a sigh as he lowered his head down.

“It all makes sense now. Why we have seen magical artifacts but no magic users.” His mouth drew into a tight line. “The only magic comes from specially trained slaves, probably kept by artisans.”

“They’ve been very careful to breed magic out of us,” Siún said dully. “More of us don’t have it now than those that do. It’s actually considered a dangerous unwanted trait, except in certain circumstances. Like our appearance.” She glanced down at her own forearm, turning it in the light. It was mostly the expected shade of flesh but in a few places small silvery patches glinted, the color of scales if not the texture. “It’s considered more attractive to look like a normal person. Few people would buy a slave that had scales, unless they wanted something…exotic.”

Her tone took on a meaningful note, and Darcy shuddered. She got what that meant. She’d taken enough classes that dealt in human trafficking – it wasn’t hard to figure there was probably a booming side business in slaves as sex workers.

Siún went on, “But they never want the traits in our appearances to disappear completely. As long as we look different, we can never escape.”

“Even if you got away, as soon as someone got a look at you, they’d call for the local authority to have you arrested,” Fandral realized.

“Does no one ever try to escape?” Sif demanded, disbelieving.

“Of course. But for most of us…where are we to go?” Siún gestured with her fingertips, hands in her lap. “Sometimes if you have a master that is exceptionally cruel, it’s thought to be worth it to try and escape to another town, where you can eventually be caught and sold to another. But there are risks because those that round up runaway slaves are usually careless. They don’t always think we’re worth the trouble, and some die.”

She lifted her chin to gaze at the others somberly.

“And if you do make a bid for permanent freedom, what then? The only life you can have is an outlaw. A thief, a mercenary, a slaver…”

“Wait a minute. Back up the truck,” Darcy interrupted, shocked. “You mean some of you guys get free, and then turn right around and start selling more people into slavery? People that are just like them?”

“The woman we bought Siún from was one,” Loki told her quietly.

“Gross!”

“Don’t judge Alaria too harshly. She’s not the only one,” Siún said. “Some see no point in distancing themselves from that world, so they figure they might as well profit by it.”

“Say what you will, but I can see no pardon in it,” Sif declared. It was obvious from her expression and the set of her shoulders that she thought Alaria contemptible.

“It’s about self-preservation,” Loki muttered.

Sif snapped at him, “The way these people are treated in this realm, all they have left that they can trust in is one another. What little pride they can cling to. And someone who would betray that? To trade in on it for money?” She scowled. “They are completely without honor.”

Abruptly Loki got to his feet. Moving swiftly he went over in front of Sif, lips curling in an angry and terse sneer as he spoke.

“Oh, it’s so easy for you, Sif. For all of you.” He glanced at the other Asgardians then back to her. “To think that nothing can come before honor. To treat concepts like ‘honor’ and ‘glory’ as absolutes,” Loki expounded. His eyes were dark, his face twisted. “You could never know how hard it is to stay honorable – to hold onto the very notion of honor– when you have _nothing_ else. No sense of belonging, or worth, or _being_.”

Sif stared at him, speechless, taken aback.

It was complete silence in the cave. They were all staring at Loki. His eyes never blinked, never wavered as he stayed where he was, as if daring them all to say something back. Siún watched meekly, hands on her knees and body hugged tightly. No doubt she wondered what would happen if a fight broke out; if some of their anger got transferred onto her.

It was the old man, now standing atop a rock outcropping in the cavern, who spoke to finally break the stiff tension.

“I do hate to be inhospitable, but I’m afraid the lot of you can’t stay here.” He pointed. “Now, there is another cave along the beach a short distance in that direction, and you can take whatever you like from here to furnish it; make yourself comfortable if need be.” He straightened, grasping his staff to help himself stand tall. “But a storm is coming soon. And, for my own reasons, I’d rather not you all be here when it hits.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” Volstagg said with a sigh. He looked at his fellows, who had stood up and gathered near when the beggar began speaking. “We need to figure out what our next move is anyway. Assuming there is one.”

“There has to be,” Fandral protested stubbornly in the face of Volstagg’s fatalism. “Let us not forget, we have the treasure map now.”

“That’s right!” Darcy remembered, brightening. “So, that means all we need to do now is get a ship together and go looking for it, right?”

Loki shook his head, reaching for her shoulder as he reminded her, “And where are we supposed to find a ship?”

“There were a whole _bunch_ of ships back in the harbor at Kraken’s Cove…which is now full of people that are violently mad at us.” Darcy trailed off, becoming less certain.

The blind man informed them, “I have a ship.”

Six heads snapped to look at him. “You what?” Loki demanded, startled. “Where?”

“Oh, that’s for me to know, and you to perhaps find out,” came the reply in a most mysterious tone.

Fandral was beaming. “Splendid!” He and the others walked forward, peering up at the blind man eagerly. “And, would you be willing to let us have it?”

The only response was an odd look, both smiling at them and not.

“Can we have your ship?” Hogun asked more firmly, when it was clear the man was not going to speak.

The half-smile became more prominent. “Ah, well…you _can_.”

“Oh boy,” Darcy realized: “There’s a thing going on here. He said ‘can’, not ‘may’. Even I get that one.”

Again Loki separated from the herd to approach the blind man more closely. Finding the natural footholds in the rocky slope he climbed up one step at a time, until the two of them were standing even.

“Tell us, if you please,” he stated intently. “What is it that we must do, in order to earn the right to use your ship?”

“Ask me for it,” the beggar told him. Loki frowned.

“What?”

“All you need to do in order for me to lend you a vessel to continue your journey is ask me for it.”

Loki gave a nervous smile. “I don’t understand.”

The beggar said, very precisely, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Ask me for it, and if you do it the _right_ way, then I’ll gladly give it to you."

“Oh.” Loki hesitated. “Most noble prophet, upon my oath as prince of Asgard, I entreat you to lend to us your ship.”

The man’s face turned suddenly grave. “Why do you need my ship?” he demanded.

Loki’s face went stiff as he realized _this_ was the question he was supposed to be answering.

From the gathering back on the floor, Volstagg turned to the others.

“This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”

There obviously was a very specific statement that the blind beggar wanted, and it was a mixture of troubling and mildly amusing watching Loki drive himself crazy trying to find it.

He tried riddles. He tried rhymes. He tried all sorts of clever variants on wordplay. He beseeched the beggar most eloquently. He threatened the beggar most vividly. He pleaded with passion and every double meaning he could think of, and even tried giving the man a response in song.

After the third sonnet, which had moved Sif and Hogun to begrudging applause and Volstagg to using the ends of his beard to dab tears from his eyes, Loki stormed back over to them.

“I give up,” he growled, fists clenched so that his skin was even whiter than usual. “There is very clearly one correct manner of asking that he’s looking for, and I can’t find it.” He moved both arms, exasperated. “I’ve tried everything!”

“Aw, look, it’s okay,” Darcy did her best to console him. “Maybe you’ll be able to figure it out after you sleep on it. That’s what works for Erik sometimes when he’s having trouble with his Sudoku.”

Loki just glowered at her.

“Right. So.” Fandral got up from where had been sitting, slapping his hands on his knees. “Over to this other cave, then?”

They gathered up some of the most undecorated furniture and rugs, and a few especially dry and faded sheets of parchment to help start a fire. Despite his earlier claim everything in the cavern was somehow valuable the beggar seemed entirely unperturbed by whatever they took.

“I wonder what his tale is,” Sif mused aloud as they left in search of their place to bed down for the night. “Where he first came from. How he was cursed and lost his eyesight.”

“There is an old story,” Siún said, “that says he was cast down from a strange distant land in punishment by a fiery-haired sorceress queen, when she offered him infinite knowledge and he rejected her advances as a lover.”

“Huh. That almost sounds like Karnilla,” Darcy remarked, unthinking. Then she blinked. “… _Nah_.” She shook her head, dismissing the idea violently.

“Ha! Look at that.” Fandral tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. In the darkness the moon was bright and the stars were clearly visible. “He may be a truth-speaker, but the man makes for a poor prophet. There’s no sign _at all_ of any oncoming storm!”

Loki muttered with clear-cut foreboding, “You’re assuming the one he meant was literal.”

*

The new cave wasn’t very far away, nor was it very hard to find.

It also wasn’t nearly as big as the beggar’s cavern, but there was room to stand and plenty of space for all of them, and it was dry.

They moved in enough from the mouth of the cave that they’d be shielded from the wind and any other elements, and there they did their best to get comfortable. They arranged the tables and chairs, spread out the rugs and blankets on the floor, and got a small manageable fire started in the center of their encampment. Before long they were sprawled out, most of them half asleep already.

The warriors bickered in a friendly way over who was going to have first watch, and made other chortling remarks to one another. It was clear that the centuries of travels together were all coming back to them, and the recollections were putting them in a fond and relaxed mood.

Loki however, had moved off to the side, and sat a noticeable distance from the others, alone.

Darcy went over and knelt on the ground next to him. “Hey.”

He didn’t lift his head to make eye contact, but she was rewarded with an absent smile. “Hello,” he returned, matching her tone perfectly.

“How’s it going?”

“Fine.” His response was dismissive, at best. “If anything I should be asking you that. How are you handling all this?” His voice was subdued, but Darcy was able to read the notes of genuine concern hidden within. “I know that danger and uncertainty on this level is hardly something that you’re used to.”

“You seem to be forgetting I live in close proximity to America’s premier superhero team,” was Darcy’s response, completely deadpan.

Loki only shook his head. “That isn’t the same. I’m not trying to frighten you, but I don’t want you to think…” He hesitated. “I worry for your safety,” he confessed, meeting his mortal friend in the eye.

“Hey. I’m not exactly a helpless maiden over here,” she said, doing her best to sound confident. “I’m a twenty-first century post-post-feminist girl, remember? I can drive a car, and vote, and if a guy tries to hold a door open for me just so he can look at my butt after I walk through, I’m supposed to kick him in the balls.”

That drew a chuckle from Loki. Darcy gave him a wry smile. “It’s basically an accepted part of it that this kind of thing can happen to us now. I mean, Jane’s been kidnapped twice! Sure, one of those was only because they’d mistaken her for Elizabeth Ross, but still.”

She wavered for a moment, trying to think of what to say next, and shrugged.

“I’m trying to focus on the fact that when we get out of this okay, and we probably will, I’ll have a _really_ interesting story to tell.” She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Not that I’m anywhere close to getting as jaded about these kinds of wacky shenanigans as you are…”

“Oh no,” Loki concurred with a sardonic smile of his own. He shifted his weight, leaning more in Darcy’s direction as he mused, “Growing up on Asgard, these happenings really do become rather un-noteworthy. Curses, quests, expeditions, stolen treasures – our entire youth was comprised of finding events that would make other warriors green with envy. Our merry band of six.”

“And yet you guys don’t seem to be acting like people who formed an everlasting bond over campfires and battlefields,” Darcy pointed out, meaningful.

Loki’s expression fell into a tired frown. He looked over at where Sif and the other men were snorting with laughter and sharing a canteen.

“It’s the same with them as it is with the rest of Asgard. I left, and many things are different now.” He faced Darcy again. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh I get it,” Darcy assured him. “But even if all you guys are still kind of mad at each other, it’s not going to make things get better any faster if you keep pulling away.”

“I would venture it’s as much my pulling to one side as it is being pushed,” Loki returned with an indifferent frankness that rang partially hollow.

“Still.” Darcy chose her next words carefully. “If you want to actually be friends again – and _I_ think you do, but what do I know – you could maybe try a little more. You know. At least show them you’re willing to put the effort in.”

Loki lifted his chin up. “It’s as much my burden as it is theirs,” he insisted. Darcy fought back a sigh, but then he relented slightly by confessing, “It’s strange, at times, being around them. Since my homecoming I’ve…mostly been avoiding them.”

“Except when Thor makes you guys all hang out together, right?” was Darcy’s guess.

He nodded. His face took on a more expressional, vulnerable turn.

“It’s hard, him not being here. It was difficult getting used to one another again, but. I missed having my brother in my life.” Loki looked down at the cavern floor, staring past it at something Darcy couldn’t even begin to imagine. “It feels wrong somehow, being here like this without him.”

Privately it was Darcy’s notion that it might’ve actually been a good thing, Thor getting left behind.  Though it sucked for him that he was missing out on something he probably would’ve loved to be a part of, him not being around to be a buffer between Loki and their friends was a long time coming.

Maybe without him there to get in the way the others would start really interacting. Have a chance to do some manly warrior bonding and possibly vent whatever it was they needed to.

She knew better than to say that aloud though, at least right away, and there was only so much she could do to hint at Loki before he got annoyed with her instead. So leaving him alone to his thoughts and his broodiness, she got up and went to check on the other person she was worried about: Siún.

The slender woman sat directly before the campfire, giving the others a wide berth. No doubt she still really didn’t know what to make of any of them. Though she had her back to the warriors every once in a while she would raise her head, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder – as if she wasn’t entirely certain they could be trusted.

During their resettlement operation she had automatically moved as if to help with the labor, both with carrying things and then tidying the camp and building the fire. She had been politely but firmly dissuaded at every turn, until she at last stood off to one side and merely watched, hands hanging limply at her sides as if she didn’t know what to do with them.

Now she sat with head hunched, shoulders drawn halfway to her ears, hands clasped and dangling at about level with her knees. She watched the fire as if hypnotized by the crackling embers. Though it probably wasn’t a stretch to think she might actually be in something of a daze.

Moving carefully so as not to startle her, Darcy approached and sat down at a safe distance.

“Hey there.” When Siún looked at her and didn’t start to cower Darcy was encouraged enough to continue. “Just wanted to check up and see how you’re hanging in.”

“I’m…well.” The hesitance drew a questioning look from Darcy, so Siún explained, “It’s rare for me, to have someone show interest in my state of being. Outside of if I was healthy enough to work or be sold, that is."

“Well I am interested. Really,” Darcy said emphatically. “All these guys are. And I think I speak for everybody when I say that we want to know if you’re doing all right.” She frowned. “I know it’s probably been, um. A really weird day for you…”

“It has,” Siún concurred, her voice breathless and overwhelmed and a little bemused. It gave Darcy an odd sense of hope, if only because it was the most natural emotion she’d seen from the other so far.

Whenever she’d looked over, all she saw was the woman’s face set in a still and silent blank, her mouth in a line, her eyes half-open, jaded and tired. Like even being sad, or scared, wasn’t worth the effort.

Darcy listened attentively as she went on. “Until today this world was all I’d ever known, all I could’ve ever dreamed of,” Siún exclaimed. “To find that there’s so much more out there, places that are nothing like anything I’ve ever seen, that are nothing like Loquah…”

Darcy smiled as she remembered what it’d been like for her after first meeting Thor. “Blows your mind a little bit, doesn’t it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Siún agreed – luckily the figure of speech was an easily translated one. “It _does_.” She looked away, shaking her head. “I hardly know what to do next. What to even think.”

Darcy leaned in a bit more, biting at her lower lip in apprehension as she thought. “Look. I know there’s not a whole lot we can do for you right now. I mean, being stuck in the position we’re in. And I’m _really_ sorry that you got dragged into all of this, by the way. But if there’s any place you can think of that you’d like to go, once we’ve got this sorted out enough that we can help you – a person you’d like us to take you to, or somewhere that you think you’d be safe-”

“There isn’t,” Siún told her, sounding almost shaky at having even been asked. “I’m sorry. But I’ve never thought much of my life beyond living one day at a time. Let alone what I’d ever do, if I were freed.”

“Oh. Right.” Darcy looked down at her feet helplessly. “I guess…focusing on what was in front of you, uh, probably was hard enough at times…”

Siún considered her for a moment. “My life hasn’t been _that_ hard,” she said finally. “At least, compared to many.” She looked away again, an odd smile on her face. “I’ve actually been lucky, when it comes to avoiding the worse things that could’ve been.”

Darcy didn’t really want to know. In her mind, hearing ‘I was born a slave’ was already bad enough, it was a hundred times beyond any bad life she ever could’ve imagined. And it wasn’t like she had to think _hard_ to bring up images of terrible things that could happen to slaves. She’d had history classes.

But she couldn’t stop herself. It was like peeking through fingers at a scary movie. Curiosity got the better of her. “Like what?”

Siún drew in a breath. “I,” she paused, and seemed to decide the best way to go about it was to relate her life story. “I was born in a charnel house,” she began. At Darcy’s taken aback look, she explained, “That’s what they’re called: the houses that the breeders run. It refers to how crowded most are, so many bodies packed in on top of each other. I think the term started as a joke.”

“Funny,” Darcy said, woodenly.

Siún didn’t seem to hear her. She took another moment to recompose herself before she continued to speak. “When I was young, I was sold to a brothel. But I didn’t end up staying there. The brothel owner had bought me sight unseen: he only knew how old I was. He thought I would’ve begun entering womanhood – I hadn’t. I still looked like a child.” Her smile was grim, forced. “The owner already had a few slaves to service his clients who preferred young beauties; he didn’t want another. So he gave me away as a wedding gift, to his younger brother.

“I was trained as a house worker. I cooked and cleaned, sewed, and assisted the lady of the house in whatever she asked of me. I was obedient, and good, and rarely did anything deserving of punishment. But I grew older. I stopped looking like a little girl and started being…pretty. And my master noticed.”

Darcy sucked in a breath, steeling herself. “What happened?”

“My master’s wife noticed too,” Siún said shrewdly. “Or rather she noticed him looking at me. She was the jealous type, so she had to get rid of me. The very next slaver that passed through town she sold me off to him, and probably for a pittance of what I was worth. She wanted me out of her house as fast as possible.”

“Then what? Where did you end up next?”

“Next I – I ran away.” Siún paused again, looking almost ashamed – or maybe merely acutely aware of how contrary this ran to her earlier statements of how pointless trying to run away was. “I hadn’t planned on it. I never would’ve thought I’d even try. But the slaver brought us to this small harbor to try and load us onto a ship. And there was a commotion in the yard when some crates were knocked over…he was distracted, and the door to our pen was left open. We didn’t think, we just _ran_.”

She seemed to still scarcely believe it of herself.

“I stayed close with a friend of mine, a male slave that I’d already known. We moved fast as our feet would carry us, clinging to each other’s hands all the while for fear of losing one another. But then we were spotted. A guard cornered us and knocked us apart.” Siún’s eyes darted as she spoke, fully caught up in her own story. “I made a distraction so he could get away. I was captured and he…I never saw him again.” She inhaled, voice slowing. “I don’t even know if he made it to freedom or not.”

“The two of you,” Darcy asked, carefully, “were you like…together?”

Siún stared at her blankly, then her eyes lit up with realization. “Oh, no! He was just my friend.” She shook her head. “I’ve never had anyone in my life that I would consider a lover.”

There were so many more questions Darcy had, but she didn’t know Siún anywhere near well enough to ask. “Okay.”

“After that, I was added to a lot of derelict slaves captured and sold off by the government,” Siún finished. “Alaria bought us. And, that’s it. That’s everywhere I’ve ever been so far.”

Though Darcy wouldn’t have thought it possible at the beginning, now that she’d heard it she guessed Siún wasn’t far off in her description of herself as ‘lucky’.

Sure, her life had still been unquestionably awful. But she’d had a lot of close calls to it being way worse. She could’ve become a child prostitute, or been raped by her master, or killed in her escape attempt.

And it was a sobering indicator that the most she’d been able to hope for was that she could avoid those things.

“Well, now you’re going places that are completely different,” Darcy reminded her, firmly. “And you’ve got six people here that will do everything to make sure you never go back to where you were again.”

Siún nodded. “I-I could be useful to you, on your journey,” she offered, hesitant yet hopeful. “I’ve never been to sea before but I know about life as a sailor, about the way of ships. It’s hard _not_ to pick up such knowledge in this world. And I could tell you what I know of certain islands and cities, and other things about Loquah you might not learn otherwise. And I…do any of you speak the Old Tongue?”

“The what now?” Darcy asked blankly. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I know I’m speaking English and…well the Asgardians’ language has like this built-in universal translator. They can understand what everyone says to them, and everybody can understand them right back. They seem to think that’s what _you_ guys are speaking.”

“That’s the Common Tongue,” Siún replied. “It’s the language that the Founders brought with them, when they came to Loquah.”

“Right.”

“But there’s also the Old Tongue. It’s what our ancestors spoke before that, the speech native to this world. It…” She trailed off, and then continued speaking in a language Darcy couldn’t make heads or tails of. It sounded a bit like what gypsy language usually did in movies. “Most call it ‘Krawk’, because that’s what they say many of the words sound like.”

Darcy shook her head. “Nuh uh. None of us speak that. Do a lot of people around here?”

“Common Tongue is considered the language of those that are ‘civilized’. In places like Kraken’s Cove, or many major port towns, you would hear mostly it only. But most know at least a little Old Tongue, and many are fluent in both. It’s not uncommon to find villages or smaller islands where they only speak it.”

“And you know it?”

“Oh yes.” Siún gave another of those small, mirthless smiles. “Slave names are usually words in Krawk. Always objects. An indicator of how meaningless we are. ‘Siún’ means ‘pin’ – as in, ‘worth no more than a’. Alaria probably changed her name after she freed herself; ‘larie’ is an Old Tongue word for ‘coin’.”

Darcy stayed firmly away from ideas of the person in front of her being worthless. “Well you can serve as our translator then,” she told her. “If we need you to. But I’m sure we’ll find some way for you to be useful on the ship.”

 _Once we actually have a ship,_ she added silently to herself.

“Thank you,” Siún said, meek. “I promise I’ll do what I can not to get in the way.”

“Don’t even worry about that,” Darcy reassured her. “Siún, you seem like a really nice person. If you want to come with us, then I’m sure we’ll all be happy to have you.”

Darcy couldn’t be sure if that was enough to relieve the woman of her fears she might be left behind, or who knew what else, but she stopped trying to convince Darcy of her usefulness. She got quiet again, and after a minute Darcy excused herself, figuring after the excitement she’d had Siún would eventually want to get some sleep.

Really, it’d been a trying day for all of them, and in some ways it felt like it had lasted forever. Darcy could barely believe that just that morning she’d been on Asgard.

She wasn’t surprised to see the others bedding down for the night with little trouble. And though Darcy had never been big for sleeping on the ground herself, she passed out almost as soon as she put her head on the rolled-up sack she was using for a pillow.

Unfortunately, with everyone so tired, they somehow ended up with no one staying awake to be on guard duty.

This was something they’d all come to regret in very short order.

Darcy was awakened roughly by a voice she half-recognized hissing at her, a pair of hands pulling her forcefully to her feet.

“What,” was the first thing she said, prying her eyes open, her speech slurred. “Wha’s going on? You guys…”

Her brain finally woke up to identify Sif’s face. She woke up all the rest of the way in a hurry once she realized how intense the woman warrior’s expression was. “Darcy, you need to wake up,” Sif was shouting at her.

“By all means. You could’ve let your little friend sleep. This doesn’t need to concern her.”

A strange accented voice purred at them coolly. Darcy’s head snapped around.

The fire they’d made had been built up with logs that somebody else had brought. It lit up the cave with a bright demonic glow. Looking around she discovered that they’d been all but completely surrounded, the seven of them up and on their feet with their backs facing the direction that she knew led to a dead end, a group of men armed with swords fanned out in a half-moon shape between them and the exit.

Darcy’s first thought was the thugs they’d upset earlier, but there was no sign of the greasy sinewy man that’d been their leader. Instead this group had positioned themselves around a woman.

A woman in a long coat with braided hair, gold rings in her ears and on her fingers and around her wrists and neck, and pale blue skin that was scaled like a fish.

This, Darcy realized with a sinking feeling, had to be the slaver the others had spoken of.

She looked back at her friends again. The Asgardians had drawn their weapons and were positioned ready for a fight, but the looks on their faces were wary. It was five of them versus mortals, but the bad guys had the high ground and the close quarters of the cave were probably bad news as well.

Alaria leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on her knee.

“My apologies for disturbing you all at such an unfortunate hour,” she said, sounding not at all apologetic. “But there is a matter that I think we must discuss.”

After having made certain Darcy was awake, Sif left her side and moved over to Siún, pushing the slighter woman behind her protectively as she glared at Alaria with righteous anger in her eyes, mouth set in stony silence.

“Good madam,” Fandral said, “I’m afraid we haven’t the pleasure, but I’m quite assured none of us has any business with you.”

“Two of your companions have had the ‘pleasure’.” Alaria pointed out Sif and Loki, her eyes flat, expression unsmiling. “And as for ‘business’, it’s funny you should mention that.” She straightened up. “I always keep a very careful eye on my money. You never know who might try to cheat you, or how. So imagine my surprise when I had an entire payment of coins disappear on me. _Literally_ disappear.”

“All right,” Loki concurred. “We tricked you. And I surmise that doesn’t sit too kindly with one in your…business. But we’ve no intention of giving this woman back to you.”

Sif basically ruined the diplomatic tone her companion was trying to go for by calling out, hotly, “And if you leave now, you may do it with your head intact!”

There was a murmur from the men Alaria had brought with her, a mixture of amused and offended. In the face of the threat however the woman herself didn’t bat an eye. She only gave a thin, detached smile.

“You think I came all this way for something as insignificant as that?” she demanded. “That I would come away satisfied with a pittance, when you have a piece of property of so much greater value?”

Their group exchanged glances with one another, but they were all mystified. No one seemed to understand what she was referring to. It didn’t seem likely she was after the map. Even if somehow they knew about it, slavers were hardly the treasure-hunting sort.

“What are you talking about?” Volstagg asked warily.

Alaria gave a short chuckle, clearly disbelieving them. “A _fortune_ , to the right buyer. And no small one either _._ Thousands of coins? Maybe more. That’s how much I could get for you.”

Darcy followed her eyes and was shocked to find she was looking right at Loki. Loki gaped back at Alaria, mystified and disturbed. None of the Asgardians said anything, staring in mute consternation.

Finally Loki began, “Why would you…think…”

Alaria curled her webbed fingertips, pointing at him with a fierce gleam of greedy triumph in her eyes. “You handed me those coins. The ones that turned out to be nothing more than a very skillful illusion. I know you must have been the one to do it. You have magic. Don’t try to deny it.”

It clicked together in a dawning, horrified realization in Darcy’s head. Siún had told them herself the only people on this world that could use magic were the Children of Amphitrite. So in Alaria’s mind, that meant the _only_ way Loki could be a magic user was if he was an escaped slave. Which meant it was perfectly legal for her to capture him, collar him, and auction him off to the highest bidder.

Darcy could see from the faces of her friends that they’d figured this out for themselves too.

“No, no,” Fandral started to protest, looking oddly pale, “you’ve made a mistake-”

“You can’t fool me,” Alaria cut him off with downright smarmy arrogance. “Though I must admit, if not for the obvious proof, I never would’ve believed it.” She took a step closer, hands spreading. “I’ve moved a lot of cargo over the years, but I have never seen the like.”

As she spoke she gazed at Loki with a hungry, covetous awe. Her tongue licked against her pointed teeth. Until this moment she had showed not an ounce of genuine emotion – now her entire face was lit up with greed.

Her gaze raked up and down, taking in every detail, examining Loki’s body like…well, like he was something she could own.

“Generations of careful breeding by some of the best-run houses in the world, and nothing even comes close. Such white, smooth skin, and yet so much raw and powerful magic. It really is nothing less than a marvel.” She grinned. “Oh, yes. I know a lot of rich men who are going to trip over themselves to have the offspring you’ll to sire bought into their service.”

Loki seemed frozen, throat working shallowly as he breathed in and out, muscles in his face growing more taught with every word Alaria said.

“ _And_ he’s pretty,” her voice took on a more observational tone, not even bothering to address Loki directly now but rather speak _of_ him. “That always helps. Most breeders pay top price for good looks – they like to take a little taste for themselves once in a while, to satisfy their-”

Whatever else Alaria was going to say was cut off as Darcy screamed in a white hot rage and threw a small wooden table at her.

Darcy didn’t have the best throwing arm, but the other woman had been close. It hit her in the stomach and she staggered back in shock, coughing, hands around her middle. The Asgardians took advantage of the distraction to rush forward. The lead slaver recovered in a moment and with an angry gesture and a yell sent her men to meet them.

The inside of the cave turned into a flurry of sight and sound, fists flying and words shouted as metal met metal.

Hogun brought a man down in one swing from his mace. Volstagg staggered as a blow landed on his already injured leg but he still managed to defend himself. Sif seemed to be hacking her way through the melee with the sole purpose of reaching Alaria. Fandral grabbed Siún’s arm, shoved her in Darcy’s direction, and then yelled at them both to duck and cover.

There was no sign of Loki.

Darcy took Siún’s hand in hers and both of them moving in a crouch led their way over behind a rock.

“It’s going to be okay,” Darcy babbled, as the both of them knelt down and she placed one hand on top of the other woman’s head. “I know it seems crazy, but trust me. They can totally handle this, they’re professionals-”

Siún cried out.

Darcy looked up to see a man standing over her, sword raised in both hands above him and aiming for her head.

And then all of a sudden there was a throwing knife sticking out of his eye socket, and he dropped his sword and fell back, screaming.

Darcy turned around and Loki already had one hand stretched out to her. “Come with me,” he ordered. “Keep a hold on her.”

Realizing ‘her’ must mean Siún, Darcy obeyed, taking Loki’s hand with her left while still maintaining a tight grip on Siún’s wrist with her right.

Loki led them back into the mix of the ongoing battle, dodging and weaving, somehow able to fend off any attackers away from all three of them with only one free hand.

“To me,” he shouted shrilly, at the top of his lungs. He looked around toward the other Asgardians with a sense of anxious impatience. “ _To me!_ Quickly, hurry!”

One by one the breathless combatants obeyed, rushing over to him. They seemed to understand what he was going to do, and reached out to take hands so they were all connected. Hogun took Loki’s other hand, and Fandral took his, and Volstagg took his.

“Hang onto me,” Loki was instructing loudly. “Don’t let go.” Something of the magical sort was definitely happening – a thin green mist started to spread around them in tendrils.

“Sif,” Darcy cried, noticing who they were still missing.

The Warriors Three shouted her name even louder. As Sif stubbornly continued attacking the slavers with her sword and shield, Loki chimed in with a cry of, “Sif, _please!_ ”

Everything was already starting to look a little wobbly around the edges when Sif finally whirled around, her dark locks flying away from her face. She started towards them, but it looked like she might not make it in time.

Siún flung out her free hand, stretching bodily out towards her as far as she could go, and managed to meet Sif with her fingertips.

There was a crack, and a burst of light, and then all of them vanished.

*

The spell teleported them back to the cave where the blind man lived. No doubt Loki could think of nowhere else to go.

Letting go of each other’s hands their group broke apart, seven of them staggering off in separate directions as they caught their breaths and steadied again after having been pulled from the heat of battle. The Warriors Three and especially Sif seemed almost disappointed, but all Darcy could think of was what a close call they’d had.

“Loki,” she looked up, searching for her friend’s eyes, “are you…?”

He’d just had someone talk about how she wanted to put him on a leash and sell him off to the highest bidder for stud service. Darcy figured that warranted a check-in.

Loki nodded stiffly. “I’m fine.” And then pretending not to know what she’d really been asking about, he went on, “It’ll take much more than having to perform such a spell under duress to wear me down.”

Darcy read between the lines and pretended right on back. “Cool.”

Sif was shaking her head as she re-sheathed her glaive almost violently. “You should have let us stay,” she said to Loki, accusing. “I could’ve ended that woman’s tyranny once and for all.”

“She’s only one slaver, Sif,” Loki muttered absently. “Killing her would hardly save the whole realm.”

“But it would’ve stopped her from coming after you!” was Sif’s retort. “Now that she’s convinced you come from merfolk blood, I can only assume she’ll continue to pursue us in order to try and capture you.”

“And possibly send you all to the gallows for helping escaped slaves,” Siún put in quietly.

“That’s a _death_ sentence here? Seriously?” Darcy exclaimed. “Why are they so hardcore about this? Oh my _god._ ”

“All right.” Fandral pushed back to his feet. “By my count that makes three different groups of individuals now who are chasing us. Things are starting to get exciting.”

Hogun gave him a dirty look. “We need to get _out_ of here.”

“And for that, you need my ship.”

The blind beggar strolled in almost lazily. Despite the late hour of the night (or hell, possibly early morning by now, Darcy had completely lost track) he was wide awake and composed. It was hard not to get the impression he’d been waiting for them.

As they all stared at the old man, he smiled. “Good to see you weathered the storm all right.”

Loki set his teeth. “We’re running out of time, elder,” he snapped.

The beggar only nodded, his face stern. “And I can only assume you still have need of my assistance. But you know my terms.”

“Your terms do not make any _sense_ ,” Loki protested, sounding more frustrated by the word. “I’ve spent centuries unraveling codes designed to protect knowledge of ancient secrets, solved riddles composed by nine different races, and I still can’t make heads or tails of what it is you want of me!”

“Perhaps,” the man returned, “you are merely looking at it from the wrong direction.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Volstagg said, as Loki visibly held himself back from screaming or possibly committing murder. “Is there any chance we can find a ship somewhere else?”

“Where?” Sif demanded. “How? We have no resources.”

“Well we can’t just keep standing here,” Fandral said. “We’ve done enough of that already.”

“Perhaps if we tried to journey on foot,” Hogun offered.

“There’s no place to go,” Siún informed them, shaking her head. “Once you go further mainland the terrain becomes an impasse. The only way out of Kraken’s Cove is by water.”

Darcy moaned, shutting her eyes. “This is like a nightmare,” she complained. So far in the course of a day they’d made enemies but no friends, found just enough leads to have the next step dangling tantalizingly out of reach, and uncovered a long list of things they _couldn’t_ do. “Adventures on the high seas always seem so much more fun in the movies about-”

She stopped, stunned, realizing it was the one word that none of them had yet said.

Turning her head she looked over at the blind beggar, who had walked off to take a seat by the edge of the inlet running through his cave.

_Why do you need my ship?_

There was no way it could be that simple – could it?

Darcy straightened her back, lifting her head up as she brushed her palms off on the fabric of her skirts. Trying to keep her expression composed she walked over to the beggar.

His head turned with perfect accuracy to meet her eyes with his own blinded and hidden ones.

“I think I’ve got it,” Darcy said.

“Have you now?” he asked her, and then repeated his question: “Why do you need my ship?”

“Because.” She sucked in a breath. “We’re a group of half dozen brawlers, travelers, and thieves, who’ve already broken the law and are probably going to break it a few more times before we’re done, with people after us and a desperate need to take to the ocean and find ourselves a treasure.”

The beggar asked his question yet again, but this time when he did it he was smiling. “Why do you need my ship?”

With confidence, Darcy stated, “Because we’re pirates.”

The beggar stood in a single motion, so sudden that it startled her into taking back a step. He raised his staff in one hand and pounded it against the cavern floor beneath his feet, a single echoing blow.

The water behind him churned. And then something began to rise from beneath it.

The masts rose up first, then the sails, which hung slack and billowed perfectly despite the fact they should’ve been soaked right through. Drop by drop water ran from the rigging, sliding off the hull as the waves revealed everything from bow to stern.

The ship was grey wood with white sails, a small frigate with mouths for six cannons. The front of it sloped forward and down, the bowsprit especially long with a grinning skull carved onto the end of it. It looked like a combination between a classic pirate vessel and a Viking longboat.

It was perfect for them.

The beggar turned from the waiting vessel back to face Darcy and the others, who had walked forward in a state of disbelief.

“Congratulations,” he told them. “The ship is yours.”


	3. The Jolly Roger

For a moment that felt like a small eternity contained within itself the five Asgardian nobles, one Mermish freedwoman, and one mortal girl stood there, and simply gazed upwards at the revealed pirate ship.

Once resting atop the still waters of the cavern channel the vessel held her ground, already anchored. The sails and rigging lay in place where they were, unmoved by the slightest touch of air, and perfectly dry despite having not minutes beforehand been submerged.

The ship had arisen right next to the shore. One only had to stretch out a hand and lean their arm in the direction of two, maybe three feet to brush the side with their fingertips. And when the ship had come to a stop a plank had slide down from the side, forming a ramp from which to gain easy access.

Finally the silence was broken by a low, disbelieving chortle drawn from Fandral’s throat. In less than a moment Sif and Volstagg were making similar sounds as well, as if they had only been waiting for someone to go first.

“Well I’ll be,” Fandral breathed, grinning from ear to ear.

Hogun and Loki were still far too amazed and incredulous by what’d just happened to register the situation with humor.

“We have our ship,” the former commented, in his typical stoic fashion.

The latter said nothing at all. Smiling, Volstagg patted him in the arm. “And here I’ll bet you probably thought _you_ were the brains of the operation,” he said to Loki, chortling. “Well, it looks like it’s actually Milady Darcy. How about that.”

Loki said nothing, his mouth pressing into a sour line to show he found Volstagg’s observation not particularly funny.

Smoothly the blind seer turned back from the water’s edge to face where Darcy was.

He told her, with an air of pronouncement, “The ship is yours – Captain.”

“Me?” Darcy pointed at herself. “ _I_ get to be Captain?”

The blind man smiled, either contacting her enthusiasm or amused by it. “You were the one that knew how to ask for it.”

Darcy beamed. “Oh, this is so awesome.” She whirled to face her friends. “Do you hear that? I’m the Captain!” She backtracked a little: “I mean…if everybody’s okay with that. It’s not, like, a problem?”

A small smile had been coaxed out of Loki by her reactions. “No. I think we can all live by that.”

Sif chimed in, with an approving nod, “A fine choice indeed.”

“We stand ready to follow your command to the ends of this world and beyond, Captain.” Volstagg gave a little flourish with a hand and then a bow, Fandral and then even Hogun following his lead.

Darcy grinned happily. She knew of course that her friends were mostly appeasing her, but she didn’t care. She was too excited about getting to be captain.

“Sweet. I’m the Captain,” she repeated, “I’m the captain of a pirate ship! How many people can say that? It’s absolutely going on my résumé.” She turned back to face the ship, bouncing up and down a bit as she waved both her hands. “This is my ship! It’s _my_ ship!”

She looked to the beggar. “Does my ship have a name? What’s it – I mean, _she_ called?”

His voice was both solemn and mirthful as he told her, “She’s called the _Skull and Bones_.”

“That is perfect,” Darcy declared emphatically, couldn’t having been any more pleased. “It’s so badass.” She made a grunt of approval and pumped one of her fists up. “Come on!”

Reaching out she grabbed the wrist of the first person she could get ahold of, Siún.

“Let’s go check out my pirate ship,” Darcy declared, dragging the startled second woman off up the ramp and onto the _Skull and Bones_ with her.

While Darcy and Siún quickly disappeared from sight, the others gathered near the water’s edge to examine their new property with more curiosity.

To their slightly more experienced eyes, they found something _odd_ about the construction of the ship. The outer hull looked intact and sturdy enough, but there was a roughness between the carved pieces of wood where one looked closely.

“She seems like she’ll hold,” Fandral decided at length, but still with a tremor of frowning uncertainty. “But something’s a bit off, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Volstagg agreed. He squinted as he – and the others – continued studying it. “It’s a queer vessel – what is it planked with?”

From where they hadn’t realized he was standing close by them, the blind man spoke up, conversationally, “Dead men’s nails.”

Five heads turned around sharply to stare at him. The color drained from faces showing apprehension and disbelief at what they’d just heard.

“What did you say?” Sif asked him.

“Dead men’s _nails?_ ” Volstagg repeated as a question.

“Yes,” drawled the blind man like it was the most natural thing in the world. Though his easiness seemed almost purposeful, as if he somehow knew the reason for their concern and was mocking it. “And hair.”

And then he wandered off.

The Asgardians stared at one another. It was clear from when their eyes met they were all having the same thoughts.

“We don’t…actually believe this is _Naglfar_ , do we?” Fandral demanded with a scoff. His voice was a bit shaky.

“I don’t have to tell you what the stories say, do I?” Sif retorted. “The tales of old describing a ship that will play a part in the ending of the world.”

“Yes but they’re just _stories_ ,” Fandral tried protesting; “So ancient that no one is quite sure anymore if they’re prophecies or merely make-believe!”

“Dead men’s nails, though,” Volstagg pointed out. “That’s pretty specific.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Loki offered.

“A _big_ one,” was Hogun’s untrusting mutter.

“Look, isn’t Naglfar supposed to be trapped in a glacier somewhere, or something?” Volstagg recalled. “Moored there until the start of Ragnarok, when it’s called forth and broken free of its moorings?”

The beggar passed by again, and Fandral turned to address him. “I say, old chap. Wherever did you come by this ship?”

“Ah,” the man replied. “That is a long and interesting tale.”

For a beat they stared at him attentively, waiting. After a minute Fandral prompted, “Well?”

“Hmm?” He glanced back up at them in surprise. “I just said that it’s a long and interesting tale.”

“And you’re not going to tell it to us,” Loki gathered, acerbic, “are you?”

“No.” The man shook his head, dismissive, hefted up a sack, and resumed his walking about the cavern as if he suddenly had some business to attend to.

The Asgardians gave up and turned to address each other once more.

“Look,” Fandral was saying, “he could have gotten it anywhere.”

“Maybe he found it in a glacier,” Volstagg thought out loud, looking off to one side with a perturbed musing expression. “Brought it here.”

“Enough,” Sif said sharply. “This might very well be Naglfar.” She leaned forward slightly, pointedly saying something that all of them would quite possibly be using a mental mantra from now on: “There’s no way to know for sure.”

The four men were quick to mutter their agreement. The lot of them all avoided one another’s eyes.

There was another pause, and then Loki stated firmly, “We’re not telling _any_ of this to Darcy.”

“Oh no,” Sif said.

“Heavens no,” Fandral said.

Volstagg and Hogun were quick to voice their agreement with this as well. As one, the Asgardians were convinced that mentioning to their human friend that the ship they were now sailing on _might_ be one that played a role in a mythical apocalypse, was probably a bad idea.

They did the best of schooling their faces to innocence when Darcy returned, leaping over the railing and half slipping down the ramp in her eagerness. Siún trailed after her.

“This ship is _so cool_ ,” she gushed, pointing back at it over one shoulder. “Don’t you just love it?”

“Oh,” Volstagg was the first one to manage a reply, “ah – absolutely!”

His enthusiasm was far from passable. Loki shot him a glare. Luckily, Darcy failed to notice anything.

“It’s got a cabin, and a crow’s nest, and _guns_ , and a whole bunch of swords just lying around,” she continued, ecstatic. “There’s a kitchen, and a storeroom, and there’s already a bunch of supplies in there! Not a lot, but enough to last us at least a few days, until we can plunder some booty or whatever. There’s plenty of room in the hold.”

“All right,” Sif said once she’d finished making her report. “Now what?”

“Oh, well, _now_ I’ve got to appoint you guys to different positions on the crew,” Darcy informed them. “We can’t just sail off all willy-nilly without that. It’s organization, and organization is important when you’re thousands of miles from dry land and dealing with rats and scurvy.”

“And you think you can do that?” Loki asked her, amused. “With all due respect, ‘Captain’, do you even know anything about running a boat? Or how one works?”

“ _No_ , but Hogun does.” Darcy gestured to him, sweetly: “Which is why I’m making you my First Mate. Responsibilities include making sure the Captain doesn’t make an idiot of herself and teaching the rest of the crew how to sail.”

Hogun smiled lightly and nodded, accepting the appointment.

Darcy went on, “And then next…okay. Hmm.” She pressed both hands together, thinking out loud to herself, “History 351: The Golden Age of Piracy. That was only two semesters ago. I can _do_ this. Siún, help me out a bit here. There’s someone who’s in charge of looking after all the supplies, right? And someone who’s supposed to keep a logbook and write everything that happens down?”

“Yes,” Siún informed her. “That would be the purser, and the bosun.”

“Great. Loki, you’re both of those,” Darcy determined. “You get to remember anything important and make sure we don’t starve. And Fandral? I’m going to make you the navigator.”

The addressed, who had stepped forward eagerly expecting some rank of importance, deflated in visible disappointment and confusion. “Well, what does that even mean?” he demanded. “What is it that I’m supposed to be doing?”

“Well it means you get to keep ahold of the map, which only seems fair since you were the one that got it for us,” Darcy told him. Fandral gave Loki a look aside, as if to say _‘There, you see?’_ “And, it also means you get to stand up in the crow’s nest posed all dramatically as you look off into the distance with the spyglass.”

Fandral’s eyes brightened, picturing that. “I like it!”

“Okay, Volstagg,” Darcy moved on to him. “You’ll be the quartermaster. You’re in charge of all the weapons, and technically you’re the one in charge whenever we fight another ship and you have to lead the crew into battle.”

“Ah, excellent,” Volstagg crowed, pleased to have gotten a job that sounded less like…well, _work_.

“Also, technically _you’re_ supposed to get to pick out who’s in charge of running the cannons. The gunner.”

“Oh well, that’s _easy_.” Without pause Volstagg turned to one side, indicating his female companion, who smiled back at him. “I select Lady Sif.”

Darcy pointed. “And Sif, I think we’re supposed to have a ship’s carpenter, so that can be you too.” She shrugged. “Just let us know if you see any leaks.”

Sif gave her a breezy salute. “As you wish, Captain.”

“And that should be everybody!” Darcy looked around, her face falling, nervous. “Do we actually have enough people to sail a boat?”

“It’s small,” was Hogun’s estimation, giving the _Skull and Bones_ a cursory look over. He nodded. “We should be able to manage, with all of us working together.”

“Oh thank god…s,” Darcy went, as had become her on and off habit. She turned to face Siún. “Then in that case, that just leaves you. And _you_ , I am giving one of the most important jobs on this ship. Got it?”

Siún froze up, eyes going wide with uneasiness.

Darcy put her hands on the other woman’s shoulders. “You’re the cook.”

Siún’s anxiety melted away, and she gave what was probably the biggest smile Darcy had seen out of her so far. Though sadly that wasn’t saying much. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good!” Darcy moved back from her to address the rest of her crew. “All right you mangy sea dogs…let’s get this voyage under way! All aboard!”

Hogun’s guess proved to be right. Though it took a fair amount of work out of all of them, the ship was a compact enough one that a crew of only seven would be able to handle, and should control neatly once they were out at sea.

With the sails and rigging already set up for them it took twenty minutes to maneuver everything into the needed position. After that they drew up anchor, Sif and Volstagg pushed them off, and with Hogun at the wheel and Fandral standing boldly astride the main topmast, the newly christened pirate crew of the _Skull and Bones_ under Captain Darcy Lewis began its maiden voyage.

Loki waved goodbye to the old man as they went forward following the inlet from his cave onto the open ocean, though more out of politeness than anything else.

“Farewell!” he called. “Until we meet again.”

“Oh, we will meet again,” the prophet called back from where he was standing on the shore. “Precisely one more time. But it won’t be as a part of this journey.”

“What?” Loki exclaimed, startled, and he almost fell off the back of the stern.

After he recovered, he looked around and deduced that none of his compatriots had heard (or seen, thankfully) anything, and quickly and sagely decided to keep the information all to himself.

*

Despite the fact that betwixt the five of them the Asgardians had retained not much knowledge of their time spent in Viking longboats, and the other two ladies in their company had no direct experience sailing _at all_ , within a matter of days the seven of them had gotten their various duties down quite admirably.

Putting Hogun in charge had probably helped with this. His straightforward manner meant he could communicate to the others fast and simple what needed to be done. And naturally unsmiling a man as he was, for a warrior of Asgard he’d a relatively calm temper, so he didn’t lose patience too easily when his friends needed to be retaught nautical terms or took several tries to remember how to tie a knot.

The rest of the would-be pirates adapted to their responsibilities also. Sif was in the process of jury-rigging a system so that she would be able to fire off all three cannons on each side by lighting a single fuse, and made no secret of how greatly she looked forward to a chance to use it. Volstagg didn’t have much to handle regularly save a daily munitions check to make sure the gunpowder hadn’t somehow vanished. In his downtime, he was to be mostly found in the kitchen, offering Siún use of his culinary expertise.

While normally Fandral’s sense of direction could be abysmally poor, it turned out he fared much better on the ocean. Possibly because there were no landmarks to confuse him; everything was all angles of sight and straight lines. He applied himself to learning how to use a sextant and compass and how to translate the various tidal markers from the only map they had in their possession. And he grew predictably fond of standing on deck with one foot posed on the rail, knee set at a jaunty angle, gazing out at the waters of the spyglass as the winds ruffled through his cape and the feathers in his hat. Though despite all his hinting to Darcy about being curious where the rest of them stood in the chain of command past Hogun, and what their various rankings were, she never did answer him.

Loki also took to his duties quite seriously, though perhaps for no reason more than ensuring the group’s survival. He’d found provided for him onboard a large leather-bound ledger, where every day he wrote down supplies and kept track of how many they were using. There was a column entitled ‘sums’: they had none, as of yet, but since Darcy insisted that being pirates there would eventually be chests of stolen gold and silver making way into their possession, Loki humored her by making a column for them anyway. Every morning and night he dutifully marked down zero.

(Another insistence of Darcy’s was that it was customary for the entire crew to sign the first page of the log. The abundance of titles the Asgardians padded their signatures with made hers look pretty weak by comparison – but at least, unlike Siún, she actually had a last name. It was Loki who helpfully suggested it be expanded to ‘ _Siún, Freed Daughter of the Blood of Amphitrite_ ’.

Though Darcy was more grateful that Siún already knew how to write, and contrary to what it sounded her name wasn’t spelled ‘Shoon’.)

Loki also kept the logbook thoroughly, and perhaps surprisingly _tidily_ updated. He was a supremely gifted storyteller, but he understood that descriptiveness and drama had their place. If he was entertaining at a mead hall he could give a tale as movingly and eloquently as he pleased. The purpose of the logbook however was for keeping track of simple facts of what happened and when. So his entries were short and to the point.

For example, on the nineteenth day of their voyage, Loki wrote:

_Day dawned cloudy. Running low on salt pork, if situation remains unchanged will divide ration in three days’ time._

_Spotted an island shortly before midday. Small, presumably uninhabited, perhaps with the possibility of freshwater. Captain elected not to stop._

_Attacked by large sea serpent. Lost one cannon, half the foremast, and extensive damage to both stern and starboard sides of the ship. Fire in hold destroyed much of alcohol supplies. Three of crew injured but for the most part in good health and spirits. Course diverted backward to previously mentioned island in order to make repairs._

But that’s getting ahead of things quite a bit.

For the most part Darcy stayed out of the way and let her wisely-appointed crew handle things. When there was time she asked questions of Hogun, who taught her what he could about navigating by the sky while at sea, and how to handle the wheel.

And in the evenings on the main deck, Fandral was giving her lessons on how to fight with a sword.

A week went by. Everyone learned that wearing their hats wasn’t just a fashion statement but kept the wind out of their hair and the sun out of their eyes. Siún grew accustomed enough to the others that she didn’t automatically cast her eyes down whenever they walked by, though she still rarely spoke without being addressed first. The whole crew ate three meals together every day. At night they slept in hammocks hung from the rafters within the ship, with the exception of Siún who had a bedroll in the galley, and Darcy who as captain had been surrendered the only bed inside the cramped main cabin.

After the first five days Darcy was mostly over her sea legs. The person who took the second-longest to adapt after her was Loki, because when he wasn’t needed to assist with the rigging he spent little time walking around. He’d find a small corner somewhere inside or out to sit quietly and watch, as the waves rolled by, or as his friends strolled around and chatted with one another.

The only person who at any point experienced seasickness was Sif, and the others knew better than to admit they’d seen it.

By the seventh day, Darcy was starting to feel like the novelty of being on a ship and on the ocean and the tropical air and all the cool nautical things was starting to wear a little thin. They had seen a few other ships but only from a distance, and there had been no sign of any of the people that were supposed to be chasing them.

About an hour after breakfast Loki came to her with the accounting book in hands.

“Let me guess.” Darcy looked at him. “We’re running low on something.”

He nodded. “Yes Captain,” he said, managing to make the title sound both respectful and playfully mocking. “As a matter of fact, we are.”

“Thank god,” Darcy determined. “Does that mean now we can go and do some piracy?”

Loki’s mouth quirked at one corner. “That would probably be the most efficient course of action, seeing as we don’t appear to be near any harbors and even if we were we have nothing to pay or trade with.”

“Great! Tell everybody to keep a lookout for a ship we can go up to and go all pirate-gangsta on.” Darcy went to the rail and gripped it with both hands as she leaned forward, apparently hoping to spot one herself right away. “What are we running low on, anyhow?”

Loki’s eyebrows went up. “Everything.”

“What?” Darcy spun back to face him, eyes wide. “ _Everything?_ Are you kidding?”

“We’ve managed to run about halfway through the supplies. That’s funny,” Loki remarked, dry, “a moment ago I thought you seemed happy about this.”

“That was before I realized we were running out of _all of the things_.” Darcy shook her head. “How did this even happen, anyway? I mean, I know I’m not perfect at math, but what I saw in the hold when we started looked like it could be enough for like, a month.”

“It probably could have been,” Loki informed her. “If you were only feeding seven _mortals_.”

“Right.” Darcy groaned, rubbing her forehead. “I forgot. You Asgardians have the metabolism of high school linebackers.” She dropped her hand. “Okay. This is sufficiently less cool, because now it’s a pressing need with a time crunch. Summon my first mate and my navigator, Mr. Odinson; I think it’s time to change course.”

Darcy had a half an hour conference with the three men. They poured over the ancient map, and picked out an area that, judging from the tidal patterns and nearby land masses, would be likely to serve as a trade route.

“How soon can we get there?”

“Two days, Milady Lewis – I mean, Captain,” Fandral responded. “With a bit of luck.”

“Make it three,” Hogun said, stoic. “The winds may not always be favorable.”

Fandral glanced sideways at Loki, but he shook his head.

“Nothing I can do about it. Weather magic is not one of my specialties.”

Fandral started, “If Thor were here-”

“He’d _what?”_ Loki demanded. “Make it thunder and rain?”

Darcy cut that off before it could even get going: “Forget it. Three days is fine, we’re not going to starve. Until then we’ll make do with what we have.”

The next two days went fine, but the third day they had no wind at all. It wasn’t until the fourth day that they even spotted another ship, and it was a fisherman’s tub. And after that was another fisherman, and after that yet another fisherman.

But then came the excited cry from the crow’s nest: Fandral had spotted a fourth ship, and this one looked to be heavily-loaded merchant vessel.

“I’m seeing some armed men about deck. Mercenaries, I’d wager. But no more than two or three dozen of them. We can take that number, easy.”

“Jackpot,” said Darcy.

Volstagg started sharpening the blades and Hogun made hard to port. They ran up the flag that Darcy had gotten Loki to help her design, and asked Siún to sew: dark red with a skull holding a knife in its teeth, above a pair of broken shackles.

The merchant vessel was called the _Daughter Nellie_ , a light-hearted name for such a huge and stern ship. As soon the _Skull and Bones_ got close enough, a cry went up from the other ship’s deck and the mercenaries hired to protect her started readying themselves.

“Get ready, because we’re totally doing this sea battle thing,” Darcy shouted out, striding along the deck as the Asgardians prepared themselves. She’d be hanging back of course: no one was stupid enough to think she could hold her own in a real fight of this caliber. But she could still act like a motivational leader. “Now remember – don’t kill anybody unless you really have to. We’re not like the _bad_ pirates, we’re the much nicer historically inaccurate kind.”

“No one’s having second thoughts about being thieves, I take it?” Loki couldn’t resist remarking.

“We’re only stealing from those who can easily afford it.” Fandral grinned, adjusting his hat brim down. “Rob from the rich, give to the – well, _us_. Tally ho!”

He swung over merrily on a line and landed on the deck of the _Daughter Nellie_ , immediately slashing it up among the men with his rapier.

Sif fired off the cannons, and then the rest of them swung over as well.

If the mercenaries were surprised to be fighting a crew of only five pirates, they realized quickly it was more than they could handle when each displayed superhuman strength and they were attacked by both magic and weapons of extraordinary craftsmanship.

In the end, they managed to take the ship with no casualties, just maybe a dozen men bleeding or lying face down on the deck. Darcy maybe enjoyed it more than she should have; getting to strut over there once the ships were lashed together and point a pistol at the captain’s head, demanding he turn over the loot.

She hadn’t bothered with loading the pistol. But nobody needed to know that.

After they’d taken all they needed in supplies and then some, along with some gold and luxury goods that could be traded for, they cut the merchant vessel loose and went on their merry way.

“Now that was truly a well-fought battle,” Sif announced afterwards, satisfied. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had one worthy to get my blood boiling.”

Volstagg agreed. “Tonight, we should feast in celebration. And bring forth the ale!”

“Easy there, big guy,” Darcy said to him. “We don’t want you finishing off all of our hard-won riches in one go.”

“Ah, so what if we do? It simply means tomorrow, we will have to capture another!”

The Asgardians put up a hearty cheer, clearly having taken to this whole raiding and pillaging thing like the naturals they were meant to be. Darcy beamed.

“Face it, guys. Piracy is awesome!”

They took two or three ships a day for the rest of the week.

*

Siún had remained throughout the voyage a quiet, unobtrusive figure in the background. She obviously didn’t take part in the boarding parties or any fighting. When there were discussions about the state of the voyage so far or what to do next she had no opinion to voice. So far there’d been little need for her services as a guide, and none for her as translator.

The others complimented and expressed their gratitude for her services as cook, and above all they treated her with utmost respect owed to her as an equally free individual, but outside of that no one thought much of her.

Or at least, that’s what most would’ve believed.

On the fourteenth day of their voyage Loki happened to be walking alongside deck past the outside door leading into the galley. He heard voices inside and, out of lack of anything better to do, decided to enter and see what was going on.

However, Loki was Loki, and a creature of habit. Instead of going in straightaway he pulled the door open a crack and slipped his fingers around the edge, silently making a gap just big enough to slip his head in. From there he was able to see and hear almost perfectly, but unless they happened to look up no one would notice him.

Siún was there, with ingredients spread out on the flat surface in front of her to suggest she was making an attempt at apple pies. She was however not alone. Volstagg stood beside at her elbow.

This by itself would’ve hardly been surprising. Volstagg was a glutton, and when his home wasn’t a battlefield or a sparring ring it was a feasting hall, an alehouse, or a kitchen. At about every turn during their voyage when he’d had a moment to spare he snuck off to help himself to another morsel from the galley.

Siún had at first put up with him politely. In short time however the gastronomically-inclined warrior had stopped contenting himself with saying hello, grabbing something to stuff his maw with, and saying goodbye. He had found it necessary to engage with her in _conversation_.

Considering Siún’s restrained attitude, and a certain leeriness she seemed to have towards men, it was to be assumed this would’ve ended in failure. However their conversation had a natural starting off point: food.

Siún knew how to cook, and far from poorly at that. But her training in the kitchen focused on practicality and preparation, and she’d not been expected to be a chef. She knew nothing of seasoning past the basics, of the finer points of the many degrees of basting or boiling and so forth. Volstagg on the other hand did – somehow who ate as much as he did, and had developed a taste for the finer things, knew a great deal about how they were to be prepared. So he offered her suggestions and cooking tips. And Siún had accepted them with curiosity and gratitude.

And that, as far as Loki had suspected up until then, was as far as it had gotten.

But there in the kitchen just then, Volstagg and Siún were not discussing food. Volstagg was telling her a story of one of his adventures (from the part he could catch Loki thought he recognized it, one Volstagg had told many a time before), grinning broadly and peppering his narrative at times with hand gestures.

It was a tale told to make Siún laugh, and she in fact did, ducking her head as her shoulders shook with quiet but unrestrained laughter.

“Aha, there.” Volstagg shook a finger at her, as if he had uncovered a dirty secret. “I saw that. So you _can_ laugh after all!” Nodding, pleased with himself, he went back to helping her in chopping up apples. “I had always suspected.”

“Well,” Siún paused, wistful, “I think it’s been awhile.”

But the smile was not completely gone from her face as she said it.

Breathing in and out softly Loki stayed where he was and watched them, as they continued talking about nothing in particular and chuckling, their bodies turned in to face one another. The way they would lean in a bit and then quickly away again. How they would at times lapse into a silence during which they’d steal gazes at one another and exchange warm smiles.

Loki never would’ve expected it – not of Siún, not of Volstagg, and certainly not together.

But he knew what it looked like when two people who thought of each other as more than _friends_ were having a private conversation. All the time they’d been allowed alone together had somehow turned into the start of a courtship.

Swiftly, soundlessly, Loki withdrew himself again from the room, taking pains that neither noticed he was there to begin with.

He shut the door just as carefully behind him. He was in the process of turning away again, one hand still on the door, when Fandral appeared strolling down the deck to approach him.

“I’m looking for Volstagg,” the warrior told him, carelessly. “Have you seen him?”

The options went through Loki’s mind in an instant. “No,” he said out loud, projecting a tone that was suitably mystified. “You would think the kitchen would be his natural place. But he isn’t here.” He shrugged. “Perhaps if you tried looking round the other side?”

Fandral frowned, but only in puzzlement, unthinkingly taking Loki at his word. He shrugged as well, by manner of silent farewell, and kept walking in the same direction he was originally.

Loki waited until he was out of sight. Then he stole one last glance at the closed galley door, and walked off himself.

*

On the fifteenth day it was Hogun who had claimed a round in the crow’s nest when another merchant vessel was spotted on the horizon. However, rather than straightaway yell out orders to make ready for attack, he climbed back down and called a war conference.

The ship was no middling trader, but a galleon, flying colors that confirmed it’d set sail from a major port town, and with enough holes for close to a hundred cannons.

No doubt it was backed by some official government figure and had an army of trained men on board. It was far from another easily-plucked trinket, and Hogun voiced his doubt they would be able to take it successfully. He wanted to know if Darcy would prefer they drop sail and fall back, letting this one go by.

“Since when was it like you to turn coward?” Fandral chided, immediately. “This would be the grandest prize we’ve yet taken, and you want to let it slip through our fingers?”

“There could be hundreds of men on board this ship,” Hogun stated. “Men who consider themselves servants of their law, and would defend what they are charged with guarding as a matter of honor.”

“Then they will be well-met in battle.” Sif tilted her chin up proudly, looking around at her fellows with a steely glint in her eye. “We will cross our honor with theirs, and see who are the victors. There may be a hundred of them but they are still only mortal! And we are among the best that Asgard has to offer.” With a shake of her head she smirked. “I do not fear to see this outcome.”

“How much weaker they are does not matter when we still have to get to them first,” Hogun said, pointedly.

“Our vessel is the smaller, the frailer, and fine as she is still only crafted of wood,” Loki backed him up in a murmur. “You may aim your honor all you like in their direction but it’ll never get there if the weapons they outnumber us with blow us to pieces first.”

Sif frowned, her eyes narrow as her brow creased irritably, but by her silence she conceded that she realized Loki was right.

“It’s no great loss, I suppose,” Volstagg offered, though he looked in the direction of the glimmering ship with a sigh. One born and raised on Asgard had trouble backing down from a fight, especially when it offered a challenge and a prize to accompany victory.

Darcy had been thinking this whole time as the others had their conversation. “Let’s not give up on this just yet,” she remarked, tapping her knuckles by her chin as she weighed the options.

The warriors fell silent, eyeing her and waiting with a mixture of hope, interest and trepidation.

“Loki and Hogun are right that charging them head-on would be practically suicide,” Darcy said at length. “We can’t take them by force the way we’ve been beating other ships until now. But I have to admit I don’t like the idea of letting a big fish go by if there might be another way to win this one.”

“Do you have a plan?” Sif asked.

“Sort of. An idea. The beginning of one, anyway. Have these guys spotted us yet?”

“There’s been no sign of that,” Hogun informed her.

Fandral snatched up the spyglass and took another look off in the direction of the second vessel. “They’re holding steady to the same course, and there’s no sign of an excess of activity on deck. I’d say they have no idea.”

“Okay. That’s good.” Darcy pointed off in another direction on the horizon, where there was a small rocky outcropping of an island they’d for the most part ignored. “Do you think it’s be possible for us to change course so we come around and meet them on the other side instead of straight-on across the open ocean?”

Hogun glanced up at the sails, gauging the wind. “If we changed course now, and moved quickly…”

“Yeah, then do that. Please. Now,” pressing her hands together Darcy turned to face her sorcerer friend with an impish smile, “Loki…I’ve got a question for you. About how many duplicates of yourself can you make at one time?”

A short while later the captain of the _Cornucopia_ had himself quite the moment of bewilderment when his first mate ran up to him with the report they had spotted a dory heading towards them. The small boat had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, having gotten surprisingly close before any of the crew had spotted it, and no one had yet to see the larger ship it must’ve come from.

The captain came up on deck to see for himself. The dory was just off the portside bow now, close enough he could see the figures within. There were four people, a dark-haired man and a woman in men’s dress pulling the oars, a portly red-haired man standing up in the bow, and another woman sitting in the middle wearing spectacles and a tri-cornered hat.

The red-haired man cupped both hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Ahoy the ship!”

“Ahoy the dory!” the captain responded. “Who are you, and what business brings you here?”

The rowers stopped and stood up as well. The captain felt a knot of nervousness form in his throat. Even at a distance he could tell the standing figures were unusually tall and muscled, and each of them was armed. The woman carried _two_ swords, while the men each had a mace and an _axe_.

It was however the sole unarmed figure that spoke. “My name is Darcy Lewis, and I’m the commander of the pirate fleet that has claimed these waters as our territory,” she called. “Just around that island, I’ve got three ships stuffed to the brim with men hungry for gold and armed to the teeth. They’ll be here any minute, so it’s my suggestion to you that you surrender and hand over your cargo, so we can settle this without a fight!”

“And what’s to stop me from giving the order to fire one of our cannons and blowing you out of the water before this alleged fleet of yours can even get here?” was the captain’s shouted retort.

“You _could_ do that. But I wouldn’t. It’d be a really, really bad idea,” the pirate leader informed him. “My men are very loyal to me and they wouldn’t take too kindly to you doing that. So not only would you lose your cargo anyway, they’d probably make you walk the plank and sink your ship for fun.”

Before the captain could recover enough to make a sufficient response, she pointed a thumb over her shoulder and continued, “See, what did I tell you? Here comes the first one of those ships now.”

From just around the very edge of a desolate island to the east, a small dark frigate flying a crimson flag appeared.

The captain pressed his spyglass to one eye and a cold sweat started breaking out along his shoulders. What looked to be close to two hundred pirates crowded the deck of the ship, manning the rigging or sitting atop the masts or merely pacing about with swords drawn, every one of them a black-haired man dressed in emerald green. And this was just _one_ out of three ships that the pirates commanded.

The captain weighed the satisfaction of his employer versus the lives of his crew. He came to a quick decision.

The _Cornucopia_ offered up unconditional surrender to the _Skull and Bones_. The pirate ship pulled up close enough that it wouldn’t be too much work for her crew to take the dory back and forth as they helped themselves to about all that the richly-loaded galleon had to offer.

By the time the smaller ship sailed away their hold was full to practically groaning.

After about an hour of sailing with a favorable wind behind them they had put enough distance between their ship and the one they had tricked, and with a flurry of dissipating mist the crew full of illusionary Lokis disappeared, leaving only the one standing near the edge of the deck. He pressed one hand to his spine with a wince, as if pushing something back into place, and shook his head to clear it.

“Are you okay?” Darcy bounded up to him, concerned. She offered up encouragingly, “That was awesome.”

Loki smiled at her, only a trifle thinly, and nodded in assurance. “Thank you. I’ll be fine. It’s been awhile since I’ve created so many copies at once, and I’ve never had to hold them for that long.”

“Well we couldn’t have pulled off what we did today without you. The others know that, too.”

“I’m sure.” Loki barely spared a moment for the comment. “Though I hate to be the bearer of bad news, I should point out we have a whole new problem. We’ve taken on _too many_ supplies. The ship won’t be able to steer fast at all, and if we hit rough weather we’re finished.”

“Yeah,” Darcy admitted. “As cool as it was to pillage the hell out of such a big ship, I kinda bit off more than I could chew there. But don’t worry. I’ve already figured out what we’re going to do about it.”

“And that would be?”

Darcy beamed. “Tonight, we’re finally having a feast.”

When the news went out among the rest of the crew all the other Asgardians cheered. Volstagg gave Darcy a bear hug.

Though ever since they’d started the raiding parties the crew had been eating hearty at every meal, that night they made it into truly the occasion. Barrels of ale and wine and rum were rolled onto the deck and emptied by the tankard full. Siún drafted everyone’s help in the kitchen and spent the entire afternoon whipping out plate after plate of delicacies, spiced meats and stuffed vegetables and fruits from all over the ocean. Somehow at some point they’d ended up with some live chickens and a pig in the hold: the latter was slaughtered, and presented at suppertime roasted whole with a pineapple shoved in its mouth.

They had pulled into a bay and anchored there securely. Some of the crew jumped off the side and went swimming to better work up a hearty appetite. The sun set and the festivities were still in full swing. Loki artfully cast together a spell that would play music, sprightly waltzes and jigs, and they all danced around in circles until they were dizzy.

It was dark, and the stars had come out, the deck lit up by lanterns. But no one had gone to bed. Most of them had sprawled out on the floor of the deck, still nursing their drinks.

Darcy had had, frankly, quite a lot of rum, and was in what felt like one of the best moods of her life. Her every word was punctuated by giggles, her cheeks flushed as she had to lean onto things like the railing or people for support. She wanted to _dance_ – luckily, Fandral had been more than happy to oblige her. For hours it seemed they galloped in circles, weaving as they held onto one another, Fandral expertly twirling her around by her hand.

At a natural pause in the music they both stopped, panting heavily even as they laughed at one another. Fandral brushed some hair from Darcy’s eyes and she reached to tug on his beard.

“I need another drink,” he announced. His words were slightly slurred at the ends – it took a lot to get a son of Asgard deep in his cups, but they’d had a _lot_ of alcohol.

“Okay,” Darcy wheezed, her attention already lost. “You do that.”

While Fandral filled his mug again she flounced off and flung herself at Loki, landing in his lap with her arms going to wrap around his broad shoulders.

Loki cleared his throat, straightening where he sat by the steps leading down to the inside. “Having a good time?” he noted, smiling at her antics despite himself.

“You bet. I know why the rum’s all gone.” Darcy squeezed him more tightly. “Dance with me,” she pleaded. “C’mon Loki, _please!_ I’ll bet you’re a really good dancer.”

Loki craned his neck backward as her face got very close to his. He shook his head. “I would hate to disappoint you. Go on then – keep having your fun.”

She pouted, disappointed. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He forced a grin. “I’m fine right where I am. I promise.”

The reluctance and pained doubt only showed on his face when Darcy got up and walked away, her back to him. By the time she’d turned around again he’d successfully hidden it.

Not that she would’ve noticed, because she was back to dancing with Fandral. The two made less effort to stay with the music now as they swayed together, more slowly, their bodies pressing close.

From her vantage point standing at the rail Sif looked around. Hogun was sitting up on his elbows, smiling foggily as he swallowed from a drinking horn. Volstagg sat near to him, having a conversation with Siún as she poured more ale into the mug he held between both hands.

Loki sat alone a fair distance away, the look on his face both resolute and haunted as he watched Darcy leaning her chest against Fandral’s, the front of her bodice low.

Sif set her teeth hard. Even with things that were not of her affair, there was only so much she could take.

She went over to Loki and crouched down beside him. She spoke in a low mutter.

“Is that all you intend?” she demanded, heated. “To sit there and do nothing?”

Loki’s eyes flicked to hers. She could see the shadows shift when his throat moved. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sif drew her head back and gazed at him with charged intensity. _Liar,_ the word echoed sharp inside her head.

Loki had always been a liar, a deceiver, a trickster. It had been that way since they were children. But where once being on the receiving end of his lies might have elicited a groan, a rolling of the eyes, now they struck out as if he had taunted her: a reminder of all his other, crueler deceptions.

“You have much practice at hiding your feelings, Loki,” Sif said to him, forcing herself to be calm. “But you haven’t concealed this one nearly so well.” When he made no response she pressed on, even more bluntly: “Everyone who has seen the two of you together _knows_ you have feelings for Darcy. And she for you.”

Her voice took on a note of earnest exasperation. “The two of you all but lay in wait for one another. So _why_ do you not act?”

Loki breathed in and out for a minute, his face expressionless as a stone. As he turned to look at Sif however the light in his eyes turned bitter and the ends of his lips twisted into a mean smirk.

“What concern is it of yours, Sif?” he demanded of her, voice low and mocking. “Could that be a note of regret I hear, gained from your own personal experiences?”

Sif recoiled. She stared at him, eyes growing wide with livid disbelief.

Yes, there had been a time once where it’d been thought that she and Loki could’ve become more than friends. Far as she knew none had noticed but the two of them, but there had been many a time when their eyes had met and something was exchanged, the world seeming to slow briefly and center only on them. Asgard’s sorcerer prince and its only female warrior: what a pair they could have made. Then Loki had been gone, in disgrace and betrayal, and that inkling of feeling inside of Sif had soured.

But not once since his return had Loki mentioned it. He hadn’t dared.

Loki watched her stare at him for a while, sneering. Finally he broke the tense silence with, “All considered, I should think you count yourself lucky. You dodged quite the ordeal, just barely.”

Sif swallowed. It disgusted her to hear it put it forth so plainly, though it was true. If what Loki did was awful enough to endure, how much worse would it have been if they’d been intimate?

Growing tired of having her look at him with revolted anger, Loki pushed himself gracefully to his feet. “So why be in a hurry to foist off what you narrowly missed onto another woman? Excuse me.” He walked along the deck heading towards the other side of the cabin, which would put the other revelers out of his sight.

Sif snapped out of her stupor however and went after him. The instant she knew the others stood no chance of hearing she raised her voice and confronted him.

“You are being absurd! Do you think that Darcy is going to wait forever? _I_ wouldn’t have.” Even saying that much, admitting her feelings in passing, was hard. She took a moment to recover. “But instead of taking action, like usual you _sulk_ and watch from the shadows, and in the meanwhile she-”

“She is having _fun_ ,” Loki interrupted with a rough, forced laugh. He spread his hands in a shrug and smiled. “She’s my friend. What more should I want for her?” The edges of his smile became tight. “She’s welcome to have Fandral, if he can give her that.”

“But I think, were it you in his place, you would give her much more than ‘fun’,” Sif stated softly.

That was the problem – they both knew Fandral, and while he was never cruel with his conquests, he was nothing like a serious man. If he won Darcy they’d have their merriment together until they grew tired of each other and then that would be that.

But Loki didn’t see Darcy as just another woman. She meant more. And if they were together, it would be very different than simple sporting.

Loki’s expression fell. He turned away, drawing his shoulders up in what looked like a fit of nervousness.

“I do care for her,” he said, strained. “For her wellbeing. And with me, just what is it she would be getting?” The unsaid: the Loki considered himself a burden. Damaged goods. “I’d much rather her happiness be a certainty.”

“I think you would move the skies, and the roots of Yggdrasil itself to keep her happy,” Sif claimed. Coldblooded as he could seem, Loki’s affections ran to his very core for those he cared about. It was one of the things that’d drawn her to him in the first place.

Loki shook his head. “But it’s not my place to do so. She isn’t ‘mine’. Only a promise.” He whirled back around to face Sif. “And I think that things between Fandral and I are tense enough without me throwing the gauntlet down, don’t you?”

Sif frowned at him, giving a withering look. “It’s not like him to fight so over a single woman. He’s only throwing himself into this rivalry as a way to vent other things that have gone unspoken.”

Loki scoffed hard. “Oh yes,” he said, openly mocking. “Because _Fandral_ is a well that runs so very deep.”

“He would back off if you made it clear you wanted it of him,” Sif insisted. “If you did anything to put your suit for Darcy out in the open. You should know him well enough to realize that for yourself!”

“Why do you act as if we’re all still such close companions?” Loki asked, incredulous. “I’d thought it was obvious those days are long past us now. I’ve seen the way the four of you look at me. You detest me as much as the rest of Asgard does. Even you.” He gestured at her. “Right now you can barely stand to speak to me without invoking that _warrior temper_ of yours.”

Sif breathed in and out, incensed that he could be so flippant. She all but spoke from between gritted teeth. “Do you know _why?_ Has it truly not even occurred to you? Because you _betrayed_ us. Not just Thor. Not just our realm. You betrayed all of us, your _friends_.”

She took a step forward. Loki held his ground, but even in the low light Sif could see him frowning, unsure.

“Have you forgotten everything? We trusted you. We had faith in you. We did battle alongside you, and were happy to have you at our backs.” Sif’s voice rose. “And then you made all of us look like fools. You turned on your own brother, and broke every vow you’d ever taken. Out of _spite_. Out of – petty jealousy, and an inability to admit when you were wrong! And for that, for all of that, you have _never_ made amends.”

“I was king, and you _still_ sided with Thor over me,” Loki rebuked her, his voice hissing with a still-felt sting.

“Because you lost our loyalty the moment you demanded we choose between the two of you!” Sif cried. She shook her head, disdaining. “You were a better man once, but once you took the throne you became a tyrant. Summoned those you should’ve held in confidence before you and instead _made_ us kneel. You were angry with one man and so you lashed out at everyone around you. And not once did you think that there should be any consequence.”

Loki did take a step back from her then, gazing at her in disbelief, his eyes round.

“How often you mocked us as being nothing more than Thor’s mindless followers, but now who acts as though we are but an extension of your brother?” Sif asked him. “You have his forgiveness, and so all the rest of us should immediately follow suit? I think not.”

Where her arms hung at her sides her fingers curled tightly into fists.

“You hurt us all as well. We, your brothers-in-arms.” _And the woman that would have been your lover._ “And you have never even deigned to apologize. If we still hold you at a distance, Loki, it is with good reason.”

Loki’s mouth parted. Sif didn’t know what he was going to say, if he was going to say anything – couldn’t know, because at that point she couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore.

She cast a single last disapproving glare over her shoulder and then she stalked off back in the direction they had come from.

It was quiet now. Loki’s spell was gone and the night air seemed eerily still without the music. Hogun and Volstagg were both passed out on the deck, and there was no sign of Siún.

At a distance Sif could make out the figures of Darcy and Fandral as they stumbled, laughing, towards the entrance to her cabin.

Sif could have tried to stop them. But she knew it wasn’t her place to do so. They were all free to make their own choices. And Loki had made his.

Once again, it had probably been the wrong one.

Sif went down inside the ship to climb into her hammock and sleep the night away, and thought of it no more.

*

In the morning Darcy awoke with a fuzzy feeling in her head and a sense of confusion over where she was.

She sat up with a muffled moan, reaching to try and push her hair out of her eyes and rubbing at her forehead. She looked at the floor: the wooden planks, pale sunlight creeping in from under the door and distant sound of water reminded her.

 _Right,_ she thought. _I’m in the cabin on a pirate ship._

As much as she enjoyed playing with her pretend authority, Darcy had initially felt bad at the idea of her friends sleeping in a cramped hold with hammocks, and so she’d offered to let everyone have the cabin in rotation. The Asgardians however had demurred, saying they had no problem with her taking it.

Maybe it had just been out of sympathy, since they were probably used to sleeping in all kinds of conditions and lazy city girl that she was Darcy much preferred to have a real bed.

So, for fourteen nights in a row, the cabin and the bed were hers. The space was small, and undecorated, and the bed took up most of it. The frame was metal but the mattress was surprisingly soft. There was a single blanket, which was fine since it stayed pretty warm even at night, and the sheets were plain white.

Darcy looked down and realized that said sheets were all tangled up around her, and underneath them she was naked.

With a quick startled double-take to confirm it, she clasped the sheet to her chest and looked over her shoulder behind her.

Fandral was sprawled out on his back on the other half of the bed, hair mussed, smile on his sleeping face, and from what Darcy could tell he was as completely naked as she was.

 _Uh oh_ , she thought to herself.

Now that more of the night before was coming back to her it occurred that she’d had _way_ too much to drink. In fact she was almost more surprised she hadn’t gotten sick than anything else. After a certain point everything got…pretty hazy.

She remembered that she and Fandral had spent most of the night dancing together. Though she couldn’t remember what was said, she remembered _vaguely_ that at one point the dancing had turned into flirting. She must’ve invited him back into the cabin.

After that all the details were gone. Which was pretty unfortunate: from the way that her body felt, all relaxed and sore in certain places, she was gathering they must’ve had some probably damn nice sex. She remembered that she _enjoyed_ it. She just couldn’t pull any of the specifics out.

When she pressed really hard, she got a hot and hazy burst of her upper body on the bed, Fandral holding her at an upward angle against him by the thighs and kneeling as he gazed down at her. She heard her own voice going, _“Oh yeah.”_ And then it cut short, like a film reel snapping off the projector.

“Shit,” Darcy muttered, kneading the center of her forehead.

 If she was going to have had a one night stand with Fandral, she would’ve at least liked to get to _remember_ it.

There was a sleepy mumble from behind her, and she twisted around again to find he was waking up.

He stretched his arms over his head and yawned, and then blinked a few times before he focused on Darcy’s face. She couldn’t help noticing he looked as mildly surprised as she’d been upon waking.

“Oh,” he greeted her with a smile. “Hello.”

She had to smile back. “Hello yourself, stud.” She glanced around but the room offered up no more clues – just tangled sheets, their clothes scattered all around them, and a single empty pewter mug lying sideways on the floor.

Darcy thought that maybe she should probably never drink rum again. Or at least not, you know, actual _pirate_ rum.

She looked back at where Fandral had moved slightly closer to her, absently rubbing one of her shoulders. “So, um, don’t take this the wrong way, but unfortunately I’ve got to ask you. Do _you_ remember anything that we did last night?”

Fandral pulled away, eyes widening. “Oh good,” he laughed, after a moment. “I was afraid that it was just me!”

Even though for the most part it gave her a sense of relief – at least they were on equal footing – Darcy felt her stomach sink a little.

“So we hooked up and neither of us can really remember anything?” She looked down, pouting. “That stinks.”

“Aye, that it does,” agreed Fandral, having picked up that particular mortal turn of phrase by now. He put a hand to the back of her neck, massaging it with one thumb. “It’s rare for me that even in the height of revelry I can’t recall the details of my intimate encounters the next morning. We must have celebrated last night with truly wild and reckless abandon!”

Overall he seemed to find the whole thing amusing. And, after some consideration, Darcy found she did too.

Neither of them had blacked out completely, things had just turned into kind of a fog. And while she might have not slept with Fandral if she were sober, at least he wasn’t somebody she would’ve never slept with at _all_. Looking at his muscled, tanned chest and biceps she couldn’t say she had any regrets.

It just sucked that she wouldn’t be able to recall the night in perfect detail later, for…nostalgia purposes.

However she grimaced a little when she asked him, “So, um. Now what?”

She and Fandral and Loki had been doing a weird dance around one another for a while. She had a bad feeling this might’ve somehow messed it up.

“Now?” Fandral blinked. He sat up, reaching to gather some of his nearest clothing. “Now, I suggest, we…well I won’t say ‘pretend it never happened’. But as far as my own personal record goes, I would say this doesn’t count.”

Darcy blinked back at him, startled this was sounding so suspiciously easy. She had been expecting her and Fandral would have to have some kind of awkward “so does this make us a thing now” conversation. And that whatever her not-quite-a-thing she’d had going on for a long time with Loki…was finished.

“Really? I mean, are you sure?”

“My fair maid, as pleasant as this was, I prefer not to let intoxicants do my work for me.” He reached over to tuck some of Darcy’s hair behind her ear and briefly cup her face. “If I am to woo you, I intend to do it properly. With both of us as fully-aware participants.”

He stood up – instead of averting her gaze Darcy took a good long look because, damn it, she was owed. And she didn’t think she imagined it that Fandral was strutting for her benefit.

“Therefore,” he finished, “I think, if it is alright with you, we are simply…” He shrugged with an easy smile, “exactly right back where we already were.”

“Oh.” She sat back on her hands and once she took it Darcy beamed. “That’s…that can work. I mean, I’m okay with it if you’re okay.”

Fandral spread his arms. “Then we have an accord! You see? No need for things to be so complicated.”

She lay back down, half-propped up on her elbows, and watched as he got dressed. It was amazing how quickly he could work through so many layers and laces and buttons with perfect ease.

Once finished, Fandral paused, returning to the bed to gently grasp Darcy’s hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“Thank you, my friend, for the night,” he told her sincerely.

Darcy gave a nod, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

His tone turned more teasing as he pulled away, wagging a fingertip. “And don’t let Loki think this means I’m going to go any easier on him. When I play a game, I intend to win.”

And with that as his farewell he picked up his hat and left, shutting the door securely behind him.

Her face falling, Darcy flopped backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with despondency.

As soon as Fandral had said Loki’s name it had really reminded her: she was going to have to face _him_ after all this, too. And she wasn’t dummy enough to think there was any chance her and Fandral going off together last night had escaped his notice.

The only reason she and Loki weren’t dating was complicated, and stupid, and basically boiled down to they were both scared to.

She let herself fret and stew and feel sorry for herself for about ten minutes. Then she got up, washed as best she could with a bowl full of cold water, and put her clothes back on.

She walked out of the cabin, exchanged ‘good mornings’ with a bleary-eyed Volstagg and Hogun, and wasn’t sure whether or not she should count it as lucky that Loki was the very next person she saw.

“Um,” Darcy said, hoping her finger-combing had worked out and she wasn’t still sporting some fairly epic sex hair, “hey. How’s it going?”

“Hello,” Loki greeted her. Previous experience meant him sounding perfectly calm wasn’t at all reassuring. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m…okay. Maybe a little hung over.” She couldn’t tell if she looked guilty or not. She wasn’t sure if she should _feel_ guilty, either.

When Loki nodded and turned to walk away, Darcy instantly went after him.

“Hey. Hey, wait up.” There were a lot of ways to try and handle this: Darcy was too tired and anxious to go with any but blunt. “Are you…mad at me?”

Loki surprised her by looking, well, surprised. Both his eyebrows went up. “Is there some reason that I should be?”

Darcy half-stifled a sound of exasperation. “Oh, come _on_. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.” She lowered her voice a bit, even though she was pretty sure no one else was around. “Me going to bed with Fandral last night? Are you upset about that, or not?” When Loki didn’t respond right away, she pressed, “I just want to know if it’s going to make things weird between us.”

“Us?” Loki repeated, quietly. “You and Fandral?”

“What? Oh, no.” Darcy shook her head, speaking quickly, “Me and him…we’re not a ‘me and him’.” She made air-quotes. “We’re not a ‘we’. We just, you know, happened, and it was great and all, and then this morning we agreed there’s nothing more to it. We were both kind of messed up and not entirely thinking clearly. So I guess it doesn’t count.” She bit her lip before she could meet Loki’s eyes, sheepish. “But, I wanted to make sure that you were…okay.”

Loki gazed at her for a moment, taking her face in pensively. Finally he went, slow, “Did he harm you, or take advantage, or in any way impugn you?”

“No.” Darcy frowned, confused by the question. “It was nothing like that.”

Loki gave her a faint smile. “Then no, I have no problem with what happened. You’re capable of making your own choices, Darcy Lewis. It’s no affair of mine.”

“Maybe not, technically. It’s just that…” Darcy pointed between the two of them, helpless. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Just promise me that you aren’t mad, okay? Promise me, and I’ll let it go.”

“I promise that I am not mad,” Loki said mildly, and though he came with a glaring history of burying resentment, Darcy thought they’d built up a relationship by now that she could trust him at his word. There was no sign of even the slightest caginess on his face, anyway. She accepted it, and gave a sigh of relief.

“Good.”

Loki leaned forward so he could study her face more intently, and after some scrutiny asked her, “How was your night, then? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Darcy’s eyes snapped open and she stared at him, wary. Trying to figure out if this was some catty underhanded thing.

Then again, when she wasn’t treating Loki like her almost-boyfriend, she had to admit she was guilty of occasionally treating him like he was her gay best friend. After some consideration she decided it was a normal question for their relationship for him to have asked.

“I did.” She rolled her shoulders. “It was fun, and it’s kind of been a little while for me anyway, and it was really good even though there’s parts of it I don’t remember. I empower you to cut me off next time I start to have so much rum.” That got a quiet laugh out of Loki. “But yes: last night, there was drunken debauchery. We are now officially hardcore pirates.”

She squinted, her hangover suddenly catching up to her. “Except I think I’m starting to get a headache now. Ouch.” She rubbed at her forehead.

“Here. Come with me.” Loki took her arm and steered her over to the side of the ship, pulling her down and sitting beside her.

He reached out, pressing both palms to her temples. A warm tingly feeling swept over her skin, easing the hangover away. Darcy hummed in relief.

“Thank you.” She opened one eye and looked up at him. “You know, you’re still my favorite of all the space alien Viking gods,” she promised.

Loki’s only response was to grin at her.

Evidently with the exception of some very rare occasions Asgardians were immune to hangovers, even when they got blackout drunk. Darcy was the only one who was in the morning any physically worse for wear.

This turned out to be very good, since they had a lot to do immediately.

Their celebrations the night before had been a full-tilt extravaganza, but while they’d made a sizable dent in all the excess they were carrying the cargo hold was still crammed to capacity. If they wanted to continue making good time to their final destination, they were going to have to lose some of that load, and fast.

Throwing the ballast overboard would be a last-ditch effort, after all the hard work they’d put in stealing the goods in the first place. It was time to find a place to trade.

Once again Darcy called a conference, this time bending heads over the map with Hogun and Fandral and Siún.

“If I’m reading the signs right, and I usually am,” Fandral remarked, unable to resist giving a wink to Darcy, “the location of our ship at present would be here.”

Where Fandral pressed his fingertip to the map, Hogun used his own to trace a circle around it. “This is as far as we can sail in a day, without going too fast and risking capsizing if we meet heavy waves.”

“So how about it, Siún?” Darcy put her hands on her hips. “Any place nearby you might’ve heard of we can get to for some black market trading?”

Siún eyed the map carefully and nodded. “Here.” She indicated a small island a short distance from the shore of a much larger body of land. “It’s called Coral Rally, because of the reef that prevents it from being reached on the side of the mainland. It’s populated by the descendants of refugees. There’s a market there – it’s said you can buy and sell anything.”

“People mind their own business there,” Darcy surmised.

“It’s the place to go when you want to get away from the rest of civilization,” Fandral chimed in. “Sounds _perfect_ for us.”

The adjusted their course and set out, reaching the island by midday. It was easy to find a dock to tie off at – one glance around the harbor offered the sight of several other ships that likely were used by pirates as well. The harbormaster only asked for a silver piece, and signed them in under the ship’s name, and asked no other questions.

Darcy took Siún, Loki and Volstagg with her to the market, leaving the rest of the crew to guard the ship. Then she led the way herself down the narrow winding path, flanked on one side by Siún with her hair covered, her head down and her hands folded demurely, and Loki on the other with his ledger securely under one arm. Volstagg brought up the rear carrying a large chest on one shoulder filled with samples of what they had to trade in case the would-be buyers wanted to see it upfront.

They ended up being at the market for over three hours. There were plenty of merchants to unload their wares on, but none who wanted everything, and every time they went from one to another they would have to start the process all over again.

Darcy was to tell the truth not very good at haggling. She could talk someone’s ear off with the best of them, but when it came to wheeling and dealing she could never be too sure. She left all the bartering up to Loki, with assistance from Siún if the person they were dealing with was more fluent in Krawk. Darcy figured this made her look especially authoritative and captain-like.

“There,” Loki said at last, just when Darcy thought the heat was starting to get to her, the mugginess of the tropical island making her clothes cling against her skin. He made a mark in his book and shut it firmly. “That’s the last of our overflow. Everything else we have need for, and more than enough of to carry us the rest of the way.”

By now Volstagg had dumped out the odds and ends in the chest he was carrying, and instead it was full up with coins. Darcy watched absently as Siún quietly but clearly gave directions for the buyer’s men to find their way to the _Skull and Bones_ so they could unload the purchase.

“With enough care and a little bit of luck,” Loki continued, “we won’t have to stop any more ships.”

“Boo,” Darcy opined, frowning. “And I was just getting used to that part.”

Without quite knowing where her feet were carrying her, she wandered off in the direction of the town square. There was a crowd gathered around something and she wanted to see what was going on.

The others followed, doing the best they could to stay close.

“It’s dangerous,” Loki insisted, warningly. “So far I know you’ve been having fun with your game of make-believe, but every time we try there’s a chance somebody could get hurt, even killed. One of us just as easily as the enemy sailors. Not to mention by now the stories have to be piling up; we do not want to attract any attention.”

“I think it might be a little late for that,” Darcy told him. She’d come to a dead stop about five feet away from a large wooden board where notices were pinned, a few people hanging around looking at them.

The others followed her eyes. Near the center of the board was a set of wanted posters that looked slightly newer than the rest. The caption over all of them read, “ _PIRATES: Wanted for Crimes against the People of Kraken’s Cove and The Common Law of the Sea”._ There was a substantial reward offered, and a picture for every member of the crew except Siún.

“Dammit,” Loki said.

Volstagg tried to brush it off with good humor. “Well, they say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Isn’t that right?”

“Except when it crosses the line into infamy,” Loki responded. “Which believe me I can attest is not remotely helpful.” Darcy started to slip forward and he caught her by the shoulder. “What are you doing?"

“Are you kidding?” She looked at him. “I want mine. I’m gonna take it home and have it framed. How many people get their own _wanted poster_?”

“Darcy, I really don’t think that’d be a good idea…”

There was a sudden commotion from nearer to the board, a shouted conversation between a red-faced man and his two equally inebriated companions.

“Good luck trying your hand on the reward with this lot,” he was saying, pointing to the posters for the _Skull and Bones._ “Whatever they did to the governor at Kraken’s Cove, he’s taking it personal. Sent his best man after them: Captain Royale.”

“The most upright man on the ocean,” his friend commented mockingly.

“Aye, but he gets the job done! And his ship, the _Silver Hound_ , is supposed to be one a’ the fastest to ever set sail. They say he’s brought as many as a hundred crews in with her already.”

“Well Royale will have to try and beat the _Flogged Ghost_ to ‘em if he wants them taken alive _,”_ the third man spoke up. “Barnabas Ratchem’s swore to get there first and take all the treasure they’re supposed to be holding for himself.”

“Is that right?”

“Heard it from the weedy black-haired bastard myself! He’s in town, you know: saw him down at the pub, spitting and cussing up a storm. Says he’s gonna gut the lot from noses to navel in order to make sure they regret ever runnin’ away from him in the first place.”

Darcy and her group had slowly shifted backwards, the captain trying to pull her hat brim lower over her face while the others looked around nervously.

Loki spoke close by Volstagg’s ear, “Run back to the ship as fast as you can, and tell the others to begin making ready to sail. We need to get out of here immediately.”

“Right. I’ll er, meet you back there soon. I hope.”

He moved astonishingly fast for a tall heavyset man carrying a chest full of gold and silver pieces.

The other three turned around and attempted beating a less hasty retreat, trying not to call any attention. Though Loki still drew the two women close by him, just in case.

“That isn’t really because of the piracy,” Darcy said to him, protesting. “Those are the same people we pissed off already.”

“True,” Loki said, wryly. “But the piracy probably doesn’t help.”

They got back to the harbor, loaded up the ship (luckily all their trades had been unloaded already), raised the sails and got out of there in record time.

“So,” Darcy said in conclusion much later, after they’d put the island well behind them and filled the others in, “now we know that the same lawmen and the same bandits we were running from back when we started this whole journey, are for sure still after us.”

“And we have some names,” Fandral put in. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I always like to know the name of a man who’s trying to kill me.”

“Captain Ratchem and his bandits want to kill us,” Sif corrected. “I think it sounds as if this Captain Royale only wants to arrest us.”

“Yeahhh,” Darcy said, slowly. “Which means that, if they treat captured pirates here anything like they did in Earth history, they’ll put us all on trial, find us guilty, and unless we’re like, secretly women and pregnant-”

“Don’t get any funny ideas, Loki,” Volstagg muttered at him.

“-they’ll execute us, so we’ll be killed anyway,” Darcy finished. “‘Hung by the neck until dead’, is how it usually goes?”

“Wonderful,” Sif said, exasperated, while the Warriors Three all rubbed their necks and looked dour. “So in addition to seeking the treasure now we must try to avoid two different pursuers.”

“Only two?” Hogun reminded her. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“Alaria,” Loki stated, his face unreadable.

Darcy blinked. “Does she _have_ a ship?”

“Yes,” Siún told her, blank. “How else do you think she moves her slaves from port to port? It’s called the _Ariel_.”

Darcy gave her a funny look.

“After the name of a sea spirit in legend that was captured by a sorcerer and forced to do his bidding,” Siún explained.

“Oh! Right,” Darcy said, awkwardly. “… _That_ Ariel.”

“We’ve avoided the lot of them so far,” Fandral said. “Maybe our luck will hold out.”

Nobody said anything, but the look on all of their faces was far from convinced. After all, in their collective experience so far, luck ‘holding out’ tended to be a thing that didn’t happen.

*

 

The next morning dawned gray and with a chill in the air, the clouds overcast and a creeping damp above the water that threatened to eventually become a mist.

 

The waves were all but still, sluggish in the back and forth pattern of their lapping.

 

Something was afoot. A change, a warning, something that lay deep within the ocean and was either happening already or would be happening soon. Siún could feel it against her skin, and the ocean tried to tell its secrets to her.

 

But like always she refused to listen.

 

She was awake early, at a time when she knew the rest of the crew would most like still be asleep. Had the morning not been clouded, even then the only light would have been the pale cast of the hours immediately following dawn.

 

For a minute or so she stood by the window from the galley, looking out over the water, alone. It was just her; her and her thoughts.

 

Adaptability had always been a blessing for those born among her kind – adaptability, and resilience, and a resistance to forming any strong bonds of attachment. Theirs was an existence that was changeable. Undependable.

 

Siún had allowed herself to be blown along with the wind, and made herself as at home as she could with each new place she’d been deposited. But now the wind had blown her someplace different entirely, someplace she never could’ve expected to have landed.

 

Less than a month had it been, and already she found herself growing comfortable with these off-worlders and their strange ways. Letting herself be slowly but surely won over, and changed.

 

They had given her new clothes, set aside a bed for her comfort, allowed her to eat as much food as the rest of them. It would’ve been easier to think it all some kind of a cruel trick, at first, but what purpose would such a thing have served? Who would go to the bother and time of tricking a slave?

 

And so Siún began to relax around them, to be more and more…herself.

 

Ideas began to bloom inside her head and her heart, ideas that until recently could’ve never found any place there; ones that were dangerous for a slave to have.

 

Like that it was possible to trust in the goodness of men and women.

 

Like that she was a being of actual worth.

 

It was a peculiar, often frightening shiver that ran the whole length of her body and deep down inside her. But she was beginning to think that she actually quite liked it.

 

On bare feet, her hair unbound, Siún padded from the galley to the creaking ladders below the surface of the _Skull and Bones’_ deck, making her way to the storeroom. With the ease of practice even in the dark of the hull she found the storeroom and opened the door on creaky hinges to slip inside.

 

Head ducked, she filled up her arms with the supplies she needed to begin making the crew’s breakfast.

 

It was only at the last possible second, when she was turning to go, that she got the sensation she wasn’t alone.

 

“Oh!” Siún started as she found herself facing one of the off-worlders, the tall man with dark hair and pale skin, who went by the name of Loki. A potato dropped from her arms and thudded against the floor, rolling away.

 

“Forgive me.” Loki gave her a polite, apologetic smile. He bowed, and then scooped to pick up the potato and hand it back to her. “I did not mean to startle you.”

 

“It’s all right.” Siún smiled passively in turn, nodding. “It’s no harm done.”

 

Loki waited until they had left the storeroom behind and were at the ladder leading to above-deck before he spoke again.

 

“I was, however, looking for you.”

 

Siún paused with one hand reaching above to grab part of the ladder, both puzzled and instinctively unnerved. “Oh? Why is that?”

 

Again Loki waited, this time until Siún turned back to face him. He met her eyes, giving her a studying look, his own eyes bright and focused as he took her in.

 

“You mentioned once before that very few of those of you bred into slavery have magic, did you not?”

 

Siún gave a slow nod, confirming what he stated. “That is true, yes.”

 

Even in the shadows of his hold she could see the brilliant green cast to his gaze, something she would have thought impossible.

 

“And yet,” Loki remarked, “you never saw fit to mention that you have magic yourself.”

 

Something tightened in Siún’s chest and likewise her arms tightened around what she was holding. Her first instinct was to deny it, for how could Loki possibly know?

 

Perhaps he read the question in her shocked, scandalized stare, for he gave her a faint smile. “With one such as I the feel of magic is innate,” he explained. “All my practice and experience means that I can see it in one who stands before me, unless carefully hidden by great skill. Which, I do not believe you possess.” He ducked his head to her.

 

Siún slowly managed to move her head in a shake. “I have no skill at all. No training.” She looked down at the floor. “I’ve never told anyone the truth.”

 

“Anyone?” Loki repeated quietly, a level of inquiry expressed.

 

Siún remained where she was, unmoving, unspeaking. Her lips parted a few times as she began to form fragments of words, but every time she failed. But Loki surprised her by speaking again.

 

“I can only imagine you would have your reasons for wanting such a thing concealed.” He mused, “I wonder which fear would be worse in your mind: your fate in the hands of a master who found such a trait unwanted, or your fate in the hands of a master who did?”

 

It took Siún another moment still to speak. “It’s nothing,” she protested feebly. “A bare spark of power that hardly can count for anything. I have only in my life been able to use it once.”

 

Loki eyed her with great curiosity, waiting. Siún moved, slouching so her back was supported by the wooden wall.

 

“It was when we were escaping,” she elaborated, voice bare but more than a whisper. “My friend and I. What I did in order to distract the guard, so that he could get away – I stared hard at a fountain just behind him. I made the water churn. Even that took all of my concentration.”

 

“You have affinity for water,” Loki informed her, his gaze continuously scrutinizing. “Some weather magic, perhaps. I couldn’t teach you to master it, but if you wanted I could give you a few lessons on harnessing the energy that already lays dormant inside of you. Refining it into a usable power.”

 

“It does not interest me,” Siún told him in a blank murmur.

 

Loki tilted his head to one side. “It scares you,” he gathered. “Or maybe you simply detest being…different. I can sympathize.”

 

Siún hugged the armful of dried goods closer to her chest. She turned away so that she only saw Loki from one corner of her eye, her body facing him at an angle.

 

“With all due respect, I don’t think that you do.”

 

She couldn’t be certain without a better view but for a moment she believed he didn’t move a single muscle.

 

“Siún. Siún Freedwoman. Look at me.”

 

There was something hard but entreating in his tone, and she obeyed.

 

“You’re clever, though you do your best to hide it,” Loki said to her sharply. “No doubt a lesson from a lifetime of being spoken to as though you were no more than an imbecile, if not an object. But I’m sure you’ve learned much about me and my fellows only by watching.” He paused. “My fellow Asgardians. What type of people are they?”

 

Siún was not certain how to answer. She considered it. “A strong people. Bold. Somewhat impulsive. They are natural fighters.”

 

Loki inclined his head in affirmation that she was correct. “And then, what sort of man am I?”

 

Siún sucked in a breath, and her voice grew quieter. “You’re a scholar. A thinker. You fight using magic.”

 

“Yes.” Now it was Loki who took a moment to speak. His gaze drifted off to one side, unfocused. “The world where we come from, physical strength and accomplishment is valued greatly over anything else. And magic is practiced by very few. It’s considered suspicious, unseemly, especially for a…a young man who most would believe could become a skilled fighter if only he tried.” A sad and weary smile formed on his face. “Believe me, I know what it is to feel the pain of being constantly thought beneath all others.”

 

“But I have heard you and the others refer to you as a prince,” Siún returned, protesting. “The son of a king. Even if you _felt_ different, you grew up in luxury, with others forced to serve you. You couldn’t know the pain of a slave.”

 

“Maybe not completely,” Loki muttered, intense and insistent, “but I know what it’s like to never truly belong. To be belittled, overlooked, degraded. To wish there was some way to fix what it is about me and know that there is not.” When he met her eyes again his gaze was burning. “I trained myself to care nothing for what anyone thinks of me, yet I still hear every whisper.”

 

And then while Siún was absorbing that, he added more quietly, swallowing, “And I know how very hard it can be at times to allow yourself compassion, or empathy, when you feel so disconnected from every other living soul.”

 

That struck a chord within Siún that before that she wouldn’t have dared give a name to, and it sent a hollow chill throughout her entire frame.

 

It wasn’t just the simple act of turning a blind eye as another slave was beaten or even killed - as not so much as crying out while these things happened in front of her. For that was the act of survival. But until she had met these people she had felt forbidden to opening her heart to anyone. Letting her feel any sympathy for anyone’s joy or pain. Her only concern could be herself.

 

This too, was part of survival. But somehow, she had always known: it was no way to live.

 

Loki moved a few steps closer to her, careful, respectful of intruding too suddenly on her space.

 

“I could teach you how better to use your magic,” he repeated. “It’s a gift you already have; you might as well use it. Don’t let fear of what others might think of you for it get in your way.”

 

When she said nothing else, he offered, calm, “At least think about it. May I?”

 

He placed out one hand, palm up, meaning to help her up the ladder. Siún nodded and took his hand, letting him.

 

She headed back in the direction of the galley, and Loki went his own way, taking leave of her company without another word.

 

Not certain what else to do Siún went about the task of preparing breakfast.

 

“Good morning,” a familiar, jovial voice greeted her when she was about halfway done.

 

She looked up in surprise, though a pleased smile was already rising to bloom on her face. “You’re up earlier than usual,” she remarked to Volstagg.

 

“It must be all this fresh sea air,” he surmised, coming forward with a grin. “If nothing else, it certainly does give one quite an appetite.” Hands pressed to his stomach he looked over what she had so far, the sausages that were still cooling and the biscuit dough that had been partially rolled out.

 

But then he turned to look at her, and his grin warmed and widened, for all appearances even more pleased to see her than he’d been the food.

 

“And look at you, this day’s dawning.” His voice an oddly subdued note for such a normally boisterous man, he reached to just barely touch the underside of her chin with his fingertips. Then carefully he moved a strand of hair from her face to behind one ear. “As radiant as ever.”

 

Siún lowered her eyes, smiling bashfully. “Thank you. I think your words are too kind.”

 

“Oh no. They are but only the truth.”

 

Volstagg leaned against one counter to watch her. With slow movements Siún started to reach for a utensil on the kitchen table, no longer remembering entirely what she was doing.

 

When first she’d met him she was wary of Volstagg – such a large man, and so loud. But whenever they met head-on he treated her with respect, and such courtesy. He’d won her over with his easygoing ways, his stories and his laughter.

 

He was a man who had such love of life. And Siún had been captivated by it, until she fell in outright love.

 

“Such a far-off look in your eyes this morning,” Volstagg observed teasingly. He moved closer to her, picking up her hand so she couldn’t go about her work. “My dear, are you entirely sure you’re awake?”

 

“It’s your fault,” she protested. But she let him draw her in with no resistance, curling her fingertips around his. “You’re distracting me.”

 

“Me? Ha!” His eyes rolled heavenward. “The woman complains that _I_ am a distraction to _her_.” He met her gaze, gritting teeth in feigned vexation as he shook his head. “If only you knew how difficult it is at times, trying to keep focus on all this tedious ship’s work…when I would much rather be alone, with you.”

 

Siún lifted one hand, gently combing her fingers through his fine red beard. As she looked up to meet Volstagg’s eyes in a deep interlocked gaze, their bodies slowly came together in an embrace.

 

For a space they held each other’s eyes then she lifted her face towards his and he bent down to hers, as they met in a kiss.

 

When they pulled apart again, their expressions matched, both softly beaming.

 

Siún however could not hold hers for long. Something caught her attention.

 

“What is it?” Volstagg asked as he watched her smile fall, her eyes grow distant and troubled. “What’s wrong?”

 

She slipped away from him and went to the window. The gray of the sky had grown darker and the wind had risen, causing her hair to blow about her when she leaned her head out for a better look.

 

She could feel it crawling across her skin, unsettling. She could hear a faraway sound even though she knew that Volstagg and most men would not.

 

Something was out there in the water. And she knew with certain horror exactly what it was.

 

Siún turned back and threw herself at Volstagg. “Cover your ears!”

 

He stared at her, befuddled. “What-”

 

“Quickly,” she insisted, fierce. Spying nearby some wax that had been used to plug the neck of a bottle, she snatched it up and handed it to him. “They’re coming!”

 

*

 

Far above the rest of the ship Loki had retreated to find himself a place in the crow’s nest, creating a refuge where he could sit and think uninterrupted.

 

He sat cross-legged within the small wooden perch. The entire cramped space was filled with pieces of paper Loki had collected, observations he’d been jotting down the course of their journey whenever he heard or saw something that seemed relevant, and a few books he’d picked up at their last stop on local history, pages carefully folded open to certain passages.

 

Brow creased, lips twisted in a contemplating frown, Loki studied the information he had spread out before him.

 

There was something odd, something off about Loquah he was determined to put his finger on. The world’s history, its culture – it bothered him.

 

He knew there was something of significance there that he didn’t yet have a name for. Something unaccounted for by even ancient peoples from Muspell mixing with the unformed society of an isolated and primitive world. He only had to figure out what it was.

 

Pulling one of the books to him Loki flipped a page over and with his free hand rubbed at his chin.

 

A faint tingling sensation drifted against his skin.

 

Inhaling slowly in startled alarm, Loki lifted his head, notes forgotten as he re-centered his focus on whatever the source of the strange sensation was.

 

There was an electric, unsettled feeling in the air like a storm was threatening to burst. But the air didn’t taste right. He could feel the energy in the nearby area disturbed, being manipulated by some kind of naturally occurring magic…

 

Loki’s eyes widened and he sat bolt upright.

 

“Oh no,” he realized out loud. Swiftly he glanced at the pages scattered around him, snatching up scraps a fistful at a time. Balling them up he shoved them deep in his ears, creating makeshift earplugs. All the while he looked furtively at the deck down below, trying to see if he could find any other members of the crew.

 

He had to get to the others, and warn them. Before it was too late.

 

*

 

Hogun stood near the bow of the ship, mostly enjoying a brief moment of solitude as he looked for something to keep his hands busy. Stepping among the rigging he tugged at lines here and there, checking that they were still secured. He tightened one knot and then spotted a loose strand of rope lying on the deck, bending down to begin coiling it.

 

The wind was proving strong that day, the looser sails flapping audibly far above him, lines that secured them creaking as their wooden tackles occasionally collided. The breeze moved determinedly against Hogun’s hair, trying to pull it out of place.

 

A sound reached his ears, like a voice – murmured as if spoken from far away. He straightened up.

 

His attention was sharp, every muscle ready, every sense searching. His natural wariness coming to the forefront as he looked for any sign of attack.

 

The sound came again and this time he could identify it. It was singing, melodic and low, one voice backed by several others. He couldn’t make out the words. The song seemed almost to blend in with the wind and waves, becoming one sound.

 

Suspicious and puzzled Hogun drew his mace and twisted until the spikes were at their full length. Then he crept forward closer towards the bow, following the sound of voices to their source.

 

The closer he got, the louder the singing became, until it threatened to overwhelm everything else around him – even his thoughts.

 

He was entranced. The world around him grew hazier, unfocused, everything so far away. The voices were fascinating to him and he had to move closer, closer. He had to see where they were coming from.

 

Hogun reached the very front of the ship, the furthest out he could get without hopping the rail and climbing onto the bowsprit. He looked down.

 

The water level was higher than he remembered. Among the waves he could see them: deep and sharp black eyes that looked back up at him with the collected, untouchable gaze of eternity. The Merfolk.

 

Water barely disturbed as tails flicked to hold them in place, bodies of scaled blue and gray and green almost invisible among the waves. They had no noses, barely any lips, long hair that hung weighted down by water. The males were barely distinguishable from the females by the broader set to barnacle-encrusted shoulders, and beards that clung to their faces in thin strands like dripping seaweed.

 

Where their heads were above water their gills flared. Mouths parted to sing revealed long sets of fangs, and the hands that beat the ocean had thickly webbed fingers and ended in long curving claws.

 

They wanted onto the boat, Hogun realized, understanding the meaning behind the inhuman words of song. The wanted the level of the ship to go lower as the water got higher, until they could climb onboard. They wanted to meet them all.

 

 _Yes,_ Hogun thought immediately. _This must be done. This is a good thing._

 

He ran back to the lines securing the sails and began adjusting them to try and make it so.

 

As he worked the voices seemed to wrap around him thickly, in a warm and encouraging cocoon. They hummed and purred, embracing his skin and filling his ears and head with the wonderful music. Rallying him on every step of the way.

 

The _Skull and Bones_ gave an unhappy warning creak as the new angle to the sails caused it to catch the wind unbalanced, listing precariously forward. Every rising wave was able to splash higher and higher until they were lapping across the deck.

 

Hogun paid it no mind. He had only space in his mind and heart for the voices, their undulating melody that pulled him down, down, deeper down.

 

He heard another voice: sharp, yelling, out of harmony with the rest. Not one of the mermaids, someone he knew…he blocked it out as best he could and tried to ignore it. But the voice persisted, calling his name…

 

A hand gripped his shoulder tight, spinning him around, and Hogun only had time to register Loki before the other man backhanded him hard right across the face.

 

He snapped out of his daze and instinct took over. Raising his mace so that the length of its handle pressed down tight against the base of Loki’s throat he charged forward, teeth clenched, shoving his enemy back. Loki’s back collided with the foremast, their faces inches apart.

 

“Sorry,” Loki gasped out, quick, before Hogun could continue defending himself. “But I had no choice. I had to get you out from underneath the mermaids’ spell!”

 

 _The mermaids…?_ Reality and comprehension came back to him as he remembered what’d happened, what he’d been doing. Hogun released Loki and moved back from him, panting. He opened his mouth to apologize but Loki only shook his head.

 

“Never mind,” he said, speaking louder than necessary – and Hogun could see why when he looked to his ears: there were compressed bits of paper stuck inside of them, homemade earplugs. Loki handed a pair to Hogun. “We need to right the ship, and quickly, before it’s too late!”

 

Hogun stuffed the plugs into his own ears. Loki touched his arm to get his attention then pointed up at the rigging, miming the act of tugging on it. Hogun nodded to show he understood.

 

Then Loki’s expression took on a note of alarm as he stared at something past Hogun’s shoulder. The warrior whirled around.

 

Though it was far from submerged yet the bow was already dipping down very close to the water – close enough that some of the Merfolk had tired of waiting and started throwing themselves up onto it. By timing their leaps to when the waves rushed up to meet the ship some of them made it. They grabbed onto the edge of the railing and the side of the hull, pulling themselves upwards with claws digging into the wood.

 

Half a dozen mermaids were on the deck, crawling in their direction. Their jaws unhinged like lantern fish, snapping open and shut as fangs tore the air and they gave a horrible hissing sound.

 

Hogun glanced at Loki, waved an arm to indicate he should focus on correcting the lines, and then ran to face the creatures.

 

He could still hear the song just barely, but through the muffling effect of the earplugs it was rendered impotent, nothing but noise. More pressing were the screeching animal cries of the mermaids as they reached toward him. He knew that if they could grab any part of him they would try to fling themselves back into the ocean and drag him along to drown, or failing that tear him to pieces. He did his best to stay out of reach and smashed at faces, fingers and the ends of fins.

 

The Merfolk shrieked as he injured them, drawing themselves back, then hissed at him furiously. With astonishing upper body strength they dragged forward on the deck using only their arms, spiny tails flipping back and forth behind them, hitting with a loud thud on every thrash.

 

A bony, wet hand wrapped itself in a crushing grip around his ankle, claws piercing skin.

 

Hogun bent his spine backwards, bringing his mace down to bury it in that hideous fish-like face. Bone crunched and black blood oozed, but the other mermaids threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to free himself.

 

A whirlwind of green flames shot past from behind him, landing unerringly on the mermaids and never falling to the deck below. The mermaids screamed and writhed as they were pieced by Loki’s throwing daggers, his magic burning them.

 

One by one they retreated off the deck and into the safety of the ocean, or were otherwise forcibly pushed.

 

Catching his breath Hogun glanced up to ensure that Loki finished fixing the rigging before coming to his aid, and then turned to face the other man. They barely had a moment to exchange a look of relief before realizing they had another problem: the _Skull and Bones_ was now leaning noticeably to one side.

 

The mermaids’ song hadn’t ended. It still hung in the air, seeking a new focus.

 

“The anchor!” Hogun exclaimed. They both rushed around the ship towards the starboard deck.

 

When they got there they found the anchor was already being pulled back up by Sif and Darcy, the former doing most of the work while the latter strained and swore helplessly. At least the mortal was trying, which was more than could be said for Fandral. Then again, he had probably dropped the anchor under the command of the merfolk in the first place.

 

As Sif finished hauling the chain in hand over fist, Fandral stood a distance away. There was a glassy, dreamlike look to his eyes. He smiled dimly as he walked towards the beckoning arms of two mermaids.

 

The creatures hung on the outer side of the rail, curving fingers towards him, smiling with wicked teeth as they hummed and made soothing, entreating clicking sounds at the back of their throats.

 

Fandral beamed at them, his own arms outstretched, the expression on his face one of a man thoroughly seduced. What he saw when he looked at the mermaids Hogun couldn’t begin to guess, but it couldn’t be the actual faces of the two creatures before him.

 

Fandral was almost within reach before his friends got to him, Hogun snatching the edge of his cape and using it to drag the other man back, and ignoring his half-formed protests Sif gave him a good smack at the corner of his head with the hilt of her sword then shook him for good measure. Hogun was willing to bet by that point her thoroughness with him was as much out of annoyance as otherwise.

 

Fandral blinked, startled, and then came back to himself. “What was I…? Oh dear. What’s going on?” he demanded.

 

Turning his head back towards the rail he saw the two mermaids. They growled at him, scales dripping. Fandral yelped.

 

“Yeah, _those_ are your admirers,” Darcy put in, huffing and puffing and looking thoroughly peeved. “Still want to go with them back to their place?”

 

The ship gave a violent lurch. All of them struggled to keep upright, arms flailing. Hogun grabbed onto to a barrel too heavy to roll away and grasped Darcy securely by the elbow. Loki managed to keep his balance by dropping on one knee to a crouch. Fandral, already off-balance, fell backwards to the deck dragging Sif down with him.

 

The nearby door to the galley flew open. Volstagg stuck his head out, bracing with one arm and holding Siún tightly to his side with the other.

 

“What’s going on?” Volstagg yelled, and then changed his mind almost instantly. He pointed to his wax-filled ears. “Actually, don’t bother! I can’t hear a thing!”

 

A wavering shriek from the two mermaids still hanging to the side of the ship caught all their attentions. Managing to get to their feet Fandral and Sif slashed at the first one with their swords until it gave up on defending itself with its claws and let go. Volstagg stepped forward intending to help them with the second.

 

He made the mistake of getting too close. Already slipping down so it only hung from one arm the mermaid lashed out and caught a fistful of his hair firmly, tugging. Volstagg gave a shout of alarm as he was pulled in.

 

Siún rushed out of the open door of the galley, brandishing a long pointed roasting fork. In a single violent movement she buried it deep in the mermaid’s shoulder.

 

As the creature let go, falling backward into the ocean with an angry cry of pain, Siún wrenched her makeshift weapon free and then met the mermaid’s gaze furiously, hissing at it.

 

With the last enemy gone they all found themselves in a sudden, startling quiet calm. Volstagg fretted over his beard and hair, putting it to rights. Most of the rest of them stared at Siún.

 

Finally Darcy said, bemused, “You go, girl.”

 

Siún glanced at her, then without saying anything moved closer to Volstagg, one hand going to lay flat on his chest as she gazed up seemingly checking on his wellbeing, while he at the same time pulled her protectively into his side with one arm.

 

“Wait just a moment now.” Fandral pointed, eyes widening. “So, the two of you are…an item? When did _this_ happen?”

 

“It’s been happening for a while,” Loki muttered, eyes going upward. Fandral rounded on him.

 

“What! And you never said anything to the rest of us? How _could_ you. Why not?”

 

“Because, with all due respect friend, it was frankly none of your business,” Volstagg retorted. Turning his gaze back to Siún he cupped her chin, examining her face. “Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

 

Sif made a huffing sound, more mildly amused by the revelation than anything. For his part Hogun once he got over the surprise felt he had no opinion on it – though he had to admit he never would’ve pictured his friend falling for a woman such as Siún. Or his affections being returned, if he was quite honest.

 

“Okay.” Darcy stepped forward, hands going up briefly as if parting the crowd. “That’s great and all, it really is. Now that that’s over with, though, can we talk about what the hell just happened? Were those… _mermaids?_ ”

 

“Can you doubt it?” Loki questioned. “They did exactly what lore tells us they do: they tried to sink our ship.”

 

“And drown us all, for good measure,” Sif added. “And used their voices to entrance the _men_ ,” here she shot a glare at Fandral, “while the women stood immune.”

 

“We should all be on our guard. Somehow we must’ve sailed into mermaid waters without realizing it.” Loki turned to confront Fandral more bodily. “Was there no marking to indicate it on the map?”

 

Fandral appeared suitably sheepish. “I must confess I’m unsure. I’ll have to look at it again, much more closely.” His voice grew sterner as he added, “But you all know if I’d noticed anything, certainly I’d have seen fit to mention it.”

 

There was a bleeding scrape on one side of his neck just above and below the hollow of his throat, a souvenir from Merfolk claws. Loki reached out a hand, offering to heal it.

 

“Here, let me-”

 

But Fandral pulled out of his reach and waved him off. “It’s fine,” he insisted, stiffly. “I don’t need it.”

 

Loki let his hand drop and nodded in wordless acquiescence.

 

Sif looked around from one of her fellows to the next. “Now what do we do?” she wondered.

 

“We stay sharp, and brace for bad weather,” Hogun quickly decided. “They probably won’t attack us again but mermaids are said to summon storms. They might try sinking us a different way.”

 

“Oh great,” Darcy said, as they broke apart to attend to different things. “Nobody had better be about to tell me they don’t know how to swim.”

 

*

 

It turned out that their fears were baseless. Not only was there no storm, in the wake of the mermaids’ attack the sky brightened considerably, the clouds all but vanished as the sun shone down. The breeze remained cool but the still air grew much warmer.

 

“This is nice,” Darcy commented, as she stood on deck waving her face with a fan made out of woven palms. “I guess we must have scared those sea bitches off but good.”

 

“We may have simply left their territory,” Sif pointed out. Hogun had insisted on tightening the sails and letting the ship fly fast over the waves once the horizon appeared even remotely trusting, and in the space of hours they had put a great deal of the sea behind them. “It must not be their nature to follow and attack us.”

 

Fandral climbed down from the crow’s nest, making his final jump to the deck just in time to overhear their conversation.

 

“Or maybe,” he interjected, somewhat short of breath, “they found someone else they’d rather pick on instead.”

 

He lifted up his spyglass, offering it to Darcy and guiding it to her eyes. “Here. Look.”

 

Fandral pointed his arm in a direction on the horizon and Darcy dutifully followed his lead. She shut one eye and looked through the spyglass at the spot Fandral indicated.

 

The first thing she noticed was that the sky was almost completely black. Both clouds and waves rolled against each other in a way that seemed ominous, and though no lightning streaked down while she watched every once in a while in the heavens there was an ominous flash.

 

“Wow.” Darcy let the glass dip lower, going from the stormy weather to the ship that was caught in the middle of it. It was a massive thing, with a great curved bow and a squat-built hull, and Darcy counted at least seven masts. If the _Skull and Bones_ was a perfect sized frigate to be crewed by only seven, then this mystery ship was the size that needed at least fifty pairs of hands, maybe twice that many. And from what she could see at such a far distance, the ship was under attack and surrounded by mermaids.

 

By the time she looked up word had spread and everyone had gathered on deck to peer off at the ship and the very specifically and focally-oriented storm.

 

“Tough luck, that,” Volstagg commented not unsympathetically, shielding his eyes with one hand.

 

“A vessel that size, if the captain knows what he’s doing they’ll be able to make it through all right,” was Fandral’s estimation.

 

“Even so, shouldn’t we try to aid them?” Sif asked, concerned.

 

“You don’t want to,” Siún interrupted, her voice quiet and completely flat. “I know that ship, even at this distance. Take another look.”

 

Darcy snatched the spyglass back from Loki, who had gone white as a sheet. Examining the other ship again she adjusted the gaze so it went it tighter, trying to see more details as she brought the image back into focus.

 

The figurehead at the very front of the mast was a sea spirit chained to the ship, hair carved so it flowed back around her as her face contorted in agony. The name in black curving letters painted against the side read _Ariel_.

 

The spyglass lowered from Darcy’s face numbly. It was only by a quick reach from Fandral, who rescued it from her hands, that prevented it from dropping.

 

“The _Ariel_ ,” Darcy said. “That’s Alaria’s ship.”

 

“What? That slaver?” Sif exclaimed. “In that case, I hope she sinks like a stone. It would be a better end then she deserves.”

 

“You’ll get no argument from the rest of us,” Volstagg reassured her.

 

“Something’s wrong.” Fandral had taken up the spyglass again and was looking at the _Ariel_ with a frown. “Hogun, take a look at this.”

 

The first mate studied the scene a moment. “They’re sailing the wrong way. Not trying to outrun it,” he concluded, now also frowning. “It’s almost as if they’re steering into the eye of the storm.”

 

“Um, that’s crazy,” Darcy stated. “Why would they do that? Are they trying to end up twenty thousand leagues under?”

 

“I think they’re after something else entirely.” Loki took a step forward, pointing at something visible even without a telescope. “She’s casting out nets.”

 

From the sides and at the front of the _Ariel_ could be seen something like translucent gray curtains, the slavers throwing out thickly-woven nets and carefully lowering them down. From the way they moved they had to be weighted at the bottom and very strong.

 

What the purpose could be was made clear less than a minute later, when one of the nets was hauled back in again: tangled within was a thrashing mermaid.

 

Darcy’s stomach sank in anxious anticipation. “What…what are they doing?”

 

“Obtaining fresh blood,” Loki informed them. When he turned around and saw the confused looks on the faces of some of the others he elaborated, “Or rather fresh breeding stock.”

 

“Mermaids can’t be kept as slaves,” Hogun objected.

 

“No,” Sif said slowly, with rising grim realization, “but their children can.”

 

Siún was nodding, detached. “It’s against the law to capture mermaids, to keep them alive or breed them with other races on purpose. But many slavers, or breeders, do it anyway. They’ll round up as many as it’s safe to carry at one time and then lock them away somewhere. Then whatever they do, they do it quickly – in captivity, pure-blooded Merfolk don’t last long.”

 

In the most awful way possible, Darcy supposed she could see sense in it. It was like with show dogs: too many generations having babies together from the same stock and you ran into trouble. With as many slaves as there was a market for, every once in a while the breeders would want something new.

 

Never mind that the idea made her want to throw up in her mouth.

 

A blue-skinned figure in a long coat walked near the bow of the ship, standing at the railing. Too far away to actually see it, Darcy could still picture the look on Alaria’s face as she watched the captive mermaids being dragged in like tuna, the cold and greedy smirk on her lips.

 

“Don’t the mermaids themselves care about any of it?” Darcy asked desperately, at a loss. “Not like there’s much they can do, but doesn’t it bother them that their kids and their kids’ kids are being sold as slaves?”

 

“They don’t care,” Loki said. “Not about the ways of humans, and certainly not about part-human offspring. They’re cold by nature, and without compassion.”

 

“They’re true immortals, not like us,” Volstagg explained further. “As long-lived as we Asgardians are, we still don’t actually live forever. But Merfolk do. Or at least they can, if no one ever injures them.”

 

“We’re taught to think of them like elemental spirits,” Sif added, looking around. “They’re such at one with the water they live in, they’re more like a part of nature than truly individual beings.”

 

“Their hearts are as alien to you as you could possibly imagine,” Loki finished softly, coming closer by Darcy’s side. “Whatever it is you’re capable of feeling, of thinking, they are not.”

 

Darcy glanced over at Siún, waiting to see if she would argue. But the Mermish woman met her gaze evenly, silent and seemingly unbothered, and then looked away again.

 

Crossbreeding between different magic or alien races, Darcy decided spontaneously, was _weird_. Mermaids were more like smart evil fish than people, yet once you bred them with humans you got a mostly normal person like Siún. Meanwhile Loki was supposed to be a full Frost Giant, but he’d been raised by Asgardians and if no one ever told her she probably wouldn’t have known anything was different.

 

Then again, she had no clue what a Frost Giant even looked like.

 

“Let’s go back inside,” Sif suggested, already turning her back to the sight off the forward bow. “We can all come out again once the slavers have finished.”

 

“Wait, though.” Loki spoke up. “This might give a chance to remove them from our tail.”

 

Darcy blinked until her eyes had been snapped back into focus and then looked at him. “What? How?”

 

Loki spread his hands, indicating a shrug with them. “It can be easily established that mermaids are not a modest cargo to carry. Yet Alaria and her men have taken in several.”

 

“Right,” Fandral said aloud slowly, following him: “So what is she going to _do_ with the unfortunate beasts? I doubt it’d be wise to keep sailing forward.”

 

Siún said, “She would need a place to put them. Somewhere she can reach within the space of less than a few hours, where they’ll be unable to exert power over the sea.”

 

“An island,” Loki guessed, continuing. “One not far from here, where she can leave them in the care of someone she trusts.” He met all of their eyes. “This island probably is also a place from which her vessel can be resupplied.”

 

“And so long as she intends to keep following us, it will be made that much easier for her, because it’s a place she can always return to if needed,” Sif gathered, straightening her back with a huff.

 

“So, what?” Volstagg asked. “We find this island, ruin her stockpile, and hope that sets her back enough that she gives up chase?”

 

“It would be nice to have one less pursuer,” Hogun remarked. “But we would have to move quickly. Soon her ship will be on the move, and we will have to be following it.”

 

“No, no,” Darcy objected. She glanced between Siún and Loki, equally concerned for both. “I don’t like that. We want to get _away_ from her, so the idea is to bring all of us _closer_ so that we can get caught?”

 

“I must admit it does seem rather counterintuitive,” Fandral observed with a quizzical frown.

 

Loki had separated himself from the group, looking off in the direction of the _Ariel_ with his hands spread out and gripping the rail, elbows straight.

 

“It won’t be putting all of you in danger.” He turned to glance at them across his shoulder. “Only me.”

 

*

In the past, Loki’s role in adventures he took part in was often one that called for him to sneak away alone.

He was slight, and quick, for an Asgardian, and notably gifted for being able to travel silently and unnoticed. He was a thief, and good at spying, and with magics capable of doing things one man on his own might otherwise not.

It someone had to creep ahead and make sure the way was clear, or retrieve a small but necessary object, or pick the way through a locked door, or cause a momentary distraction, or simply eavesdrop on an enemy conversation, the other warriors never had much quandary who to send.

 _‘Let Loki do it,’_ they would say. _‘This is the kind of thing he can best manage. It only makes sense.’_

And so despite a few feeble protests from Darcy and the others, it wasn’t very hard for Loki this time to convince him to let him go. Not with so much precedent on his side.

Unhooking one of the dories from the side of the ship and dropping it into the water, Loki took up the oars with both hands and started to row. He took with him a compass to help find his way, a single skin of water since the day was hot and he had no idea how long he’d be gone, and nothing else.

The others bid him goodbye, and good luck, but only Darcy watched him go.

Large a vessel as she was the _Ariel_ left a clear-cut path through the water, and even had Loki not been able to keep her in sight at all times he would’ve been able to find the way by following her wake.

He was understandably leery about the idea of crossing back into mermaid waters, particularly in such a small boat, and so when the time came he carefully constructed a shield of magic around the dory that made him undetectable to sight, sound, and all other senses. And since he had no desire to keep pulling on the oars the whole way, he used another spell to make them do the rowing for him. He’d just wanted to make sure he was far out of sight of the others first, so they didn’t accuse him of ‘cheating’.

That taken care of Loki shifted back on the seat of the dory and did his best to relax. Twisting halfway around, he looked ahead to watch the _Ariel’s_ progress.

The sun beat down from overhead, and he wasn’t sure how much later it was, only that he’d given in and drank nearly half of his water, when he spotted the small island that the ship was undoubtedly heading towards.

The craft he was in had no anchor of its own so Loki used another charm to ensure it’d stay in one place while he left it. Then he stood up, went to one edge and jumped off feet first, changing his shape and landing in the water as a fish.

He started out small, as a trout. But as he kept swimming in the direction of the island he changed again, becoming sleeker, larger, able to move his body through the water faster and faster. First a dolphin, then a barracuda, then a marlin.

When he reached the white sandy shore and became Loki again there was no sign of the _Ariel_ , and he was certain he must’ve beat her in arrival time thoroughly.

He patted the little dampness that had managed to attach itself to him from his clothing and his body, and then strode his way up the beach towards the rest of the island.

The terrain was hilly, and despite the small size Loki couldn’t see from one end to the other. Even once he’d reached a higher vantage point the uneven ground and copses of palm trees conspired to keep entire areas hidden from his sight. He could make out no sign of a hut or a stone dwelling where the rest of Alaria’s operation would be located.

Loki frowned, hands on his waist as he tried to decide his next move. The background was a gentle mixture of sounds, wind rustling through foliage and the faint cry of seabirds. And then he went still as he realized he heard the sound of water lapping.

Quite different from the rolling of the sea waves as they swept in with the tides, this sound came from in front of him, and he was quite certain must be from a small freshwater body. Loki continued his path further inland and was not disappointed when he came across a lake.

There was a low dock stretching out on one end and some small stones ringing around the edge of the water, but otherwise there was no sign of outside influence.  The surface reflected back the sky perfectly, making it hard to gauge how deep the lake was.

Loki was halfway to the water’s edge when he heard a sound, and spied a ripple on top. He stopped and held perfectly still as he waited to see what would happen.

With a splash a solitary mermaid burst from beneath the water, fingers clutching at the fish it had just caught. Remaining above the surface to its waist the creature hunched forward, head bowed as it tore at its meal with its teeth.

Loki narrowed his eyes as he watched, breathing softly so as to hopefully not alert it to his presence. It seemed to be having some difficulty.

Suddenly, without warning, the mermaid turned around. She glared directly at Loki, baleful, as if suspecting he would attack and take her food. Loki’s heart leapt to his throat and he had to try and swallow it back down at what he saw.

The mermaid had been forcibly, irreparably disfigured. There was a scar across the base of the neck, the throat having been cut to silence the voice, and when it tried to hiss at him the mouth hung open oddly, showing the tongue had been removed. Most of the teeth were missing as well, having been pried out, and the edge of the fingers ended in stubby, broken claws.

The mermaid had been stripped of any weapons it could use to fight the slavers that wanted to use it for their vile purpose.

As it returned to eating its meal, Loki couldn’t help gazing at the creature in pity. It’d probably been trapped there for months, if not longer. Its color was off, some of its scales were missing and its hair seemed especially lank. Probably it wouldn’t be long before it wasted away and died, in what Loki could only think of as a kind of mercy.

Then out of nowhere he was struck with a heavy blow to the back of his head.

Loki staggered, down on one knee and both hands, spitting out a mouthful of sand. He leaned his head back and looked up, even as he struggled futilely to find the strength to right himself.

A golem stood over him, featureless face appearing foreboding and solemn as it watched him with unthinking eyes.

Another of Alaria’s, left here to guard her property – or perhaps the same one? He couldn’t rule entirely out the possibility that while he’d been standing there the _Ariel_ had somehow subtly arrived.

Loki raised one hand, trying to ignore the way his fingers trembled, focus wavering. His vision swam in and out as he stared at the golem, attempting to gather his magics for a spell. All he had to do was break the enchantment that held the creature into being and it would crumble into useless rocks.

But the strike upside his head was too much. His consciousness refused to stay with him, and even full of determination and adrenaline and panic Loki could feel himself start to black out. His magic spiraled away out of his grasp as he clutched for it hopelessly, will to fight warring with the hollow dizziness inside his skull.

His arm fell, body collapsing to one side as his eyelids became too heavy. Then everything spun down and was lost in darkness.


	4. The Queen Anne's Revenge

The hours had crept by on the _Skull and Bones_ until it’d been nearly sunset, and as one the group knew they should be getting worried. Their companion was not supposed to have to travel very far, so _surely_ he should’ve returned by then.

Something had gone wrong with the plan.

Travelling in the same direction he’d gone, they found the dory tethered in place by magic. Not far from that they could see the island. But there was no sign of the _Ariel_.

And there was no trace of Loki.

The Asgardians were quick to reassure Darcy that he must still be alive. A weak charm like the one he’d used on the dory would’ve long dissipated otherwise.

But if he wasn’t dead, and he hadn’t come back to them, then that meant he was being held somewhere. And the disappearance of the slaver meant it was almost surely by her.

Captured, possibly hurt, and in the possession of one on her way to sell him into a life of bondage.

There was no debate over what to do next. Quickly they moved to ready the ship for top speed of pursuit and set off trying to catch the _Ariel_.

No one would be sleeping that night.

The others were all out on the deck, manning the sails and the wheel and keeping an eye out for obstacles in the dark. But Darcy had retreated to the cabin, alone. She sat there hugging herself, staring off into the distance out the window, far up at the stars and the moon.

Going off on his own had been Loki’s own plan. And if someone had hurt him then that would be on _their_ heads. But Darcy still felt like somehow this was her fault.

She’d acted like such an idiot. Like everything that happened on Loquah was all some kind of elaborate game and nothing really mattered but her excitement.

But the guns and swords were real. The people her “pirate crew” injured and stole from were real. The people that were chasing after them were real. The battles they’d fought were real.

They’d committed _real_ crimes. They were on a _real_ ship, that at any moment could be smashed or wrecked and send them all falling to drown in the cold deep ocean.

And this whole thing was anything but a game.

The fact that the Asgardians were so gung-ho about battle made it easy for her to forget: any one of them could get hurt or die. They were surrounded by awful things like slavery and people that wanted to arrest or kill them and sea monsters and tidal waves, and all Darcy had been focusing on were the parts that were like a theme park ride.

It was a sobering realization, to remember that her life was at stake; that she’d been too busy having fun to think about the bad things that could’ve happened to her.

But it made her feel absolutely terrible, that she’d completely taken for granted something could’ve happened to her friends.

They’d been humoring her all this time, letting her act like she was in charge even though she was squishy and weak compared to the rest of them. Letting her call the shots like a kid they were babysitting.

And even if they probably would’ve done it on their own anyway, because if there was one thing Darcy knew it was Asgardians loved a good or even a mediocre fight, she hadn’t thought twice about sending them into danger.

It was hard not to think like she’d taken advantage of the situation for her own amusement.

Well, the other shoe finally dropped. Reality had caught up to them, and the one to pay the price was Loki.

She had been careless and now one of her closest friends had gotten kidnapped – talk about a rough life lesson to learn.

Darcy stood up and went closer to the window, pressing one hand to the glass as she still hugged herself tightly with the other arm. The others were all busy working outside, but even if they weren’t angry with her or couldn’t even guess what she was thinking, she couldn’t face them. It wasn’t like she could do much to help out right now anyway.

All she could do was try to keep calm, keep breathing past the nervous knot in her stomach, and pray that Loki was okay. That somehow, they would find him, and everything would work out all right.

*

Siún was up in the crow’s nest. It was odd, the woman that for the whole voyage so far had acted as little more than their scullery wench suddenly assisting with the sailing.

But someone had to keep an eye out, and stronger hands were needed for the lines and sails. And she’d wanted to do something to help. So up she went, armed with only a small lantern.

All they could make out of her from her perch up high was the faint glow from that lantern, and between the distance and the dark it almost seemed nothing more than another one of the stars. Far, far below on deck the Asgardian warriors toiled to keep their course straight and swift, one ear perked for a warning cry from their lookout all the while.

It was dangerous to sail under full speed at night, and until now they’d never risked it. But no one spoke of doing anything otherwise; they had no choice. Not if they wanted to catch up to those that held Loki captive.

In the grey dark the four of them toiled, scarcely glancing at one another as they moved about. Lit palely by the moon and with such grim faces they looked like ghosts.

The winds were thick that night, and even after sundown it’d remained hot and muggy. It was a bad omen.

It wasn’t particularly a good time to talk, but more importantly none of them were really in the mood. Every time there was a point where it seemed like one might speak they all went still for a moment, rigid, and then suddenly they’d all move again, throwing back into their tasks with something briefly flashing in their eyes that hovered between guilt and anger. There for an instant and then gone.

They carried on like that for hours.

Finally Volstagg could take it no more. “It’s not as if we could have done anything, you know,” he said loudly, voice slightly awkward as it sounded like he was making an outburst out of nowhere.

The others stopped moving and watched him, as he turned slowly around to face them, face wan beneath his beard but eyes wide.

“It was his idea to leave, and travel alone. With his mind made up so, was there really any way we could’ve stopped him?”

“Yes.” The word rolled off Fandral’s lips, encouraged, like he’d been waiting for this to be said so he could chime in. “And why _would_ we even have tried to stop him?” He stood up and turned his head about to meet the others’ gazes intently.

“It’s oft been Loki’s role in these undertakings to go off on some errand by himself! Nothing unusual about that at all.” He shook his head. “So why should we have acted any differently?”

“Because this whole trip we’ve already been acting differently.”

The statement was made by Sif quietly, almost a murmur. But at the same time she dropped a rope she’d been coiling to the deck at her feet resulting in a heavy thud. It served as effective punctuation to her remark.

She stared at the four men coolly, who didn’t make a sound. “Would any of you dare to claim otherwise?”

Volstagg and Fandral exchanged a discomfited glance, knowing of course she was right. It was somewhat shameful to hide behind the pattern of their normal adventuring as an excuse, when nothing about this journey had been normal from the start.

Certainly not the relationship they used to have with the trickster.

“Your behavior has been just as irregular as the rest of us,” Hogun pointed out sharply.

“I know it has,” Sif said in response to the accusation, reproachful. “I never intended to speak of myself separately.”

She turned away with an exasperated air, going back to working the rigging as if the conversation was over.

Fandral was still disconcerted however and he went up to her. “Well what would you have had us do differently, then?” he demanded. “Where do you think we went wrong?”

“Nothing. I can’t say that we did.” Sif looked up at him, eyes narrowed but expression tired. “I only want us to acknowledge the truth: in the old days, we would have _never_ let him go off so easily.” She looked around, seeming to silently acknowledge her own complacency as much as any of theirs. “We would have given more pause, because we cared more for his wellbeing.”

“Things have changed,” Hogun stated. He drew himself up tall, shoulders squared, even as he exhaled as a sigh. “We used to be more careful about all who fought with us. Even Loki.”

Fandral scowled at him. “Loki used to be our _friend_ ,” he reminded in a hiss. “That was why we cared!”

“’Used to be’?” Volstagg repeated. He blinked once, passively, his mouth setting itself into a thin line. “So he’s not at all anymore, then?” He looked at his fellows, shrugging. “I don’t remember deciding that.”

That was the crux of the matter. Things between them had fallen into a type of limbo. They had been distrustful of Loki, disapproving, and not without good reason. They’d not accepted him easily into their company or behaved to him as warmly as they had once.

But they had not rejected him, either. Not a one of the four had taken the definitive move to proclaim Loki their friend no longer.

So if that was the case, didn’t that mean they still had a responsibility for him, for his safety? That even if a gap had formed, he was still considered one of them?

Fandral’s face and shoulders dropped.

“You’re right,” he admitted, somber. “Whether we realized it or not, we let Loki go off too easily, because we were glad to see the back of him. All his years of unfounded complaining that no one wanted him around when they were having fun – and that’s exactly what we did!” He closed his eyes sadly. “We used to be better than this.”

“So did Loki,” Sif reminded him, as a way of softening the blow. But Fandral shook his head.

“So we sank to his level, then? That makes things worse, not better.” He looked around again. His next question was pointed: “Which one of us wants to explain to Thor what happened because of all this?”

“Well take heart,” Volstagg interrupted, blustering at such a defeated attitude. “There’s still time to set things right!”

Hogun set his mouth hard. “Hopefully.”

*

Loki awoke to find himself in a narrow room inside the hull of a great wooden ship, the walls damp and the lighting murky.

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. His head no longer throbbed but his shoulders were stiff, the feeling in his arms partially numb. It wasn’t hard to guess why: shackles encircled his wrists, pinning them together tightly where they were drawn up over his head with a length of chain. He must have been bound to the wall behind him a long time.

The room rocked back and forth slightly – not because his vision was swaying but because of the motion of the ship as it travelled through rough seas. The only thing in there besides him was a small table with a bowl full of water on it, a piece of cloth sitting beside that. Everything smelled like sea water and rotting timbers.

Loki shut his eyes again briefly, then blinked several times as he tilted his head back, fighting off a groan. He needed to wake up, get a better look around.

He might’ve become a prisoner but the state wouldn’t last long. Whoever had captured him had no idea who they were trying to hold.

The side of his temple felt sticky, probably with his own blood. He’d been stripped of his bandanna, his shirt, his vest, his boots – everything but his trousers. That left him without weapons, and there was no sign in the room of any of his belongings. He wriggled toes against the inch or so of water that’d gathered on the floor as he thought.

Giving an experimental tug at the chains he willed his limbs to slip through. Nothing. A wrinkle appearing in his brow he tried again, this time focusing on turning his entire body into mist. But still nothing happened. Beginning to feel the first nudge of uncertainty, Loki cupped his palms together best he could and tried something much simpler, summoning a little ball of flame.

Nothing appeared, and this time he felt a warning tingle along his skin down his arms.

He stared at the chains. Their craftsmanship was simple enough but the metal was a strange color, somehow both dull and gleaming, a shade in between silver and gray. He reached for his magic, testing it, and uncovered the problem.

If magic was a sixth sense then Loki felt as if a thick blanket had been wrapped around his, muffling it. The chains weren’t just restraining him physically: they kept him from using his power.

It began to occur to him that he might really be in some trouble.

Straightening up, putting his weight in his heels he yanked his wrists down, seeing if maybe he could wrench the bolt free. But the angle was all wrong; he could barely stay upright, and even with his strength the rot wasn’t severe enough he could break the metal from wherever it’d been fastened to the wall.

He let his shoulders drop and his head hang down, panting softly as his mind raced. And just as he did there was the sound of a key scraping in an iron lock, and the door to the room swung open.

He was unsurprised to see Alaria swagger in, though wariness and dislike caused his stomach to tighten. She looked at him, smirking faintly, and he looked back, eyes tracking her every move without blinking.

She was wearing a sleeveless dress, plain and white, more like a nightshift than anything. It was an odd choice considering before he’d seen her in more utilitarian wear. Skirts were never good for movement on a ship, and she hardly struck him as a woman that cared for her appearance.

In one hand she carried a leather wineskin that she drank from heavily as she looked him over. When she at last pulled it away from her lips she gave a reflexive grimace – strong liquor, perhaps? She tossed it aside on the table next to the bowl.

“Finally awake,” she observed, her tone indicating she was pleased to see it. “I was beginning to worry that my golem was a little too rough about your skull.”

Loki said nothing, only continued glowering at her warily.

After he’d been knocked unconscious either the golem had brought him back to Alaria or she must’ve come looking and found him. He could only be a prisoner on the _Ariel_ now. Where they were heading he had no idea, but he didn’t care to find out.

Alaria moved in closer to him. Loki drew his head back, trying to pull out of her reach, but there was no place to go and the chains severely limited his motions.

She nodded her head, indicating his difficulty. “Magic-proof chains,” she said, telling Loki what he had already figured out for himself. “As you can probably imagine, they cost a pretty penny. I’m not usually one to part so easily with such a large amount of my money. But since I knew our paths would be crossing again, I figured it would be worth the investment.”

She brushed at his hair, checking where the injury had been on the side of his head. “You heal fast,” she remarked.

“That’s because I am not what you think I am,” Loki informed her viciously. He tilted his throat and glared down at her in a princely manner. “Where I come from, magic is not just limited to the Mermish race. And you have no idea what an insult you’ve caused, by treating me this way.”

In response to his incensed speech Alaria only pulled back from him and laughed.

“You really are something, you know that?” She walked a bit to one side, slow, eyeing him with a mixture of admiration and amusement. “It isn’t just that your looks can pass. It’s the attitude.” With one hand she gestured with her fingers. “I’ve met escaped slaves before. No matter how much they draw themselves up, there’s always some…hesitation in their eyes. Never have I met one that could actually be _arrogant_.”

She gave him a considering look. “You were born free, weren’t you? I think that no one who ever lived enslaved, even a long time ago, could carry himself so proud the way that you do. Is there some secret community, somewhere – a hidden island where there are more like you? So pretty and pure, with such white smooth skin, but very gifted in magics?”

“You know,” Loki stated, cold and flat, “I’m glad that you’re too dull, too burdened by your own greed, to listen to reason.” And he was: though he would’ve made a deal with Alaria if it meant his freedom, it meant something to his spiteful side that she wouldn’t get that chance. “It means that when the inevitable reckoning comes, the only end waiting for you will be a messy one.”

Even if his words were nonsense to her ears most people would have shown hesitation at the dangerous edge to Loki’s tone.

Instead Alaria leaned in, closer, moving her neck so that she could meet his eyes.

“Over the next few days, while we get to know each other better,” she said to him, soft, “I hope I’ll get you to tell me more about where you’re from. Maybe even how to get there.”

Reaching over she picked up the cloth from the small table and soaked it in the bowl of water, then after wringing it out began to carefully, almost gently dab it along Loki’s exposed skin; the front of his chest, his shoulders and the back of his neck.

Loki blinked at the cold feeling of the water, but he could easily guess as to its purpose. She still thought he was of merfolk blood and thus his skin would need to stay hydrated.

Several times a day it was common to watch Siún filling a basin to splash on her hands and face, especially the hottest ones. Scaled as she was, Alaria probably had to constantly give herself a soaking.

As she continued administering the water to him, Alaria’s other hand went to grip lightly but possessive against Loki’s neck, her fingers wrapping around the base of his throat.

Loki tried futilely at pulling away from her grasp, breathing shallowly as he worked not to choke.

Alaria leaned into him, teeth bared in between a snarl and a grin. There was a scent on her breath that was truly foul. “I would _love_ to meet the rest of your people.”

Of course she did; because she was convinced they would be even more wares for her to make a profit on.

Thinly, voice hoarse, Loki managed to say, “I believe you would like it much less than you think.”

Alaria’s only response was a distant chuckle. She gave Loki’s back one more thorough washing and then put down the cloth.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so excited over one sale,” she told him. “But you know, I just can’t even begin to picture the looks on the faces of my buyers when I show you to them.” Loki coughed; whatever she was breathing on him didn’t smell like alcohol. It was earthy and pungent. Some sort of herb, perhaps. “And once the bidding starts? _Oh_. That will be the day.”

With another chuckle she ducked her head for a glance down. Loki’s heart skipped a beat in pure shock as he felt her hands brush his belt.

“If I play my cards right, I might even be able to retire.”

“What are you…?” Loki struggled to speak as it became clear what she was doing was no accident. The belt was loosened completely and he felt two webbed fingers slip inside the front of his waistband. “No. No, _stop_.”

Alaria pressed her body into him, one hand already moving to hike up her skirt. Teeth clenched Loki wrapped his fingers around his manacles and threw himself bodily backwards, the jerking motion enough to startle her into allowing herself to be pushed away.

Breath coming fast and frantic Loki took in the calculating, callous look on Alaria’s face, and then his gaze fell to the empty wineskin on the table.

A dawning realization came. “Some sort of herbal concoction,” he deduced out loud. “Something to boost your fertility?”

Alaria’s smile was downright condescending. “Very _good_ ,” she said to him, eyebrows lifted.

“This has nothing to do with pleasure,” Loki kept speaking, even as Alaria reached for him again, even as once more she grabbed onto him by his neck. “You want to have a child,” he exclaimed, baffled.

“I’m going to get a fortune for you. But if I can also get my hands on a baby from your stock and it favors your blood over mine?” With a smirk she lifted her free hand, managing to manipulate her webbed pointer finger and thumb into the near-universal gesture of ‘just a little bit’. “Then I’ll make another, smaller fortune.”

Fist tight, she leaned into him, hissing conspiratorially into his ear.

“This is why I’m so good at what I do, you know,” she told him self-assuredly. “I’m never satisfied with just good enough – I always reach further, for every coin I can grab.”

Her free hand was back inside his trousers again, and the weight of her body leaned into his as she pressed up against him from the side.

Loki wasn’t sure what he found more horrifying – what she wanted to do to him, or what she intended for the output of such a union.

“You would carry and give birth to a child only so that you could sell it?” he demanded, appalled.

Alaria shook her head, as if finding him unfathomably naïve.

“It’s funny,” she commented, in that same low confiding type of voice, “how you seem to think I haven’t already done that before.”

Her breath was hot against the side of his throat. The scaled curves of her body scratched against his skin. From an objective standpoint it wasn’t that she was completely physically unattractive; it was just that her manner was repulsive. Loki’s eyes shut and his head went back, teeth gritted with a wince as he tried desperately to make the manacles give and release him.

Alaria had her hand around his cock now and was trying to forcefully stroke him into responsiveness. Loki’s body writhed unhelpfully, hips bucking as he struggled to pull away from her.

“Relax, would you?” Alaria clicked her tongue. “There’s no need to make this so difficult.”

 _I would turn you into a toad,_ Loki thought. _Into a stone, into a slug. I would have your skin flayed and your bones ground into dust. I would coat you in fire and watch as you burned alive._

But he could do none of those things, without his magic. He was powerless to free himself and unable to even physically fight.

Alaria began moving herself in more, trying to bring them closer together. Loki brought his elbows next to each other, the back of his throat so dry it felt raw. Despair and anger welled up in him. Her touch made him feel diseased; he couldn’t allow this to happen. He had to get her _off_ of him.

He made a sharp desperate sound and then with another cry of _“No!”_ shoved into her, lifting one leg so he could flail at her with his foot and kick out with one knee. He brought his head down and banged into the side of her face; Alaria pulled back sharply with an aggravated cry, her hands leaving him as one went to touch the cut he’d caused at the corner of her mouth.

Loki’s chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily, stretching so he was as far forward as the chains would allow. He glared at Alaria hatefully, his teeth bared like an animal.

Having the good sense to know a situation she couldn’t manipulate to her advantage, Alaria shied back out of his reach. She gave a different sounding chuckle, terse, as she took her eyes away from him to look at the color of her own blood on her fingertips.

“All right,” she said, at length. “So obviously I did not give you enough time.”

Loki waited for her to elaborate on this puzzling statement but instead she went back to the door leading out of the room and pulled it open.

Another slaver stood on the other side. He gave Loki a quick appraising look: the slump to his shoulders, the way his chains were digging into his wrists, his half-open trousers and mussed hair, and the way he breathed forcefully, uneven, his skin damp with water and sweat.

The slaver gave a grunt, and a dismissive sneer.

“Keep an eye on him,” Alaria instructed him. “Let me know when he becomes more receptive.”

And then she shut the door with a bang behind her.

Still in chains, his power stripped from him along with his dignity, Loki was left trapped and alone.

*

Maybe it was some distant remnant of the almost-storm that they’d encountered the day previous in mermaid waters. Or maybe the luck they’d been having with the weather finally ran out.

Or maybe there was no reason at all, it was simply fate.

But the fact was that in the course of following the _Ariel_ , the crew of the _Skull and Bones_ found themselves in the midst of a terrible storm.

It wasn’t that the waters were merely rough. The ship went violently up and down, from the top of one fifty foot swell to the bottom of another, struggling to stay upright and afloat as it was attacked by tidal waves. The winds threatened to blow away anything that wasn’t nailed down. Inside the compartments objects slid from side to side.

It was nausea-inducing below deck; it was hell on top of it, the masts creaking and groaning and the sails threatening to tear. The planks were slick and dangerous to walk, and the rain was practically falling sideways.

No one was sure what time it was anymore, whether it could be day or night. They’d been in it for so long, surrounded by the pitch blackness of a raging sea all the while.

It was all hands on deck as they struggled together to try and get through it. Back and forth the former landlubbers went, yelling to one another to be heard, feet pounding as they rushed from one catastrophe to the next. Broken rigging, unrestrained sails, a small leak in the forward hull that could prove disastrous.

At the helm Darcy clung to the wheel, the pressure of the waters the rudder was contending with making it impossible to turn. Siún ran to her aid and together the two of them struggled, pulling with all their strength to one side. Fandral finally came over and took it from the both of them, shooing them away with a wave and a shout.

One of the cannons came loose and rolled across the deck, nearly squishing Hogun flat. Volstagg managed to catch it in the nick of time. Then it took him, Sif and Hogun to hold it in place while Darcy tied off the straps to hold it back again.

“We’re taking on too much water,” Volstagg shouted, both hands pressing his waterlogged bandanna to his head. “At this rate we’ll never make it through.

Hogun’s cap was drenched into another shape completely and Fandral had abandoned his inside once the feathers had turned into a sad mess. There was no sign of Sif’s hat – at some point the wind had knocked it off her head and swept it away.

“We have to lose some of the cargo,” the female warrior declared.

“Okay,” Darcy yelled back, agreeing. “Both of you, get down to the hold and start pitching things over the side!”

Sif and Volstagg nodded and ran as fast as they could to do so. One by one, heavy boxes and barrels were turned into jetsam, sacrifices for the angry waves below.

It was a sign of their dire straits that at the sight of so much good food tossed over, Volstagg shed nary a tear.

With no visible end in sight the ship crawled forward, trying to find their way out of the storm.

And no one, not even once, suggested they turn back and risk giving up their rescue.

*

The waters were rough where the _Ariel_ was as well, though not nearly as bad as it was for the _Skull and Bones_. It was rainy and windy, however, and the waves pitched the large vessel about extra hard.

Below in his cell, still chained to the wall, Loki knew none of this. He was only aware of the way the room moved as the ship rocked back and forth.

Some time had passed and there had been no further sign of Alaria. Following his orders the man she’d left to guard the door stuck his head in once in a while, glanced at Loki, and then did nothing.

Loki for his part stayed perfectly still, only lifting his head to fix the slaver with a forbidding glare.

That was only when the man was looking though. As soon as the door shut, Loki waited a moment, and then returned to the task of picking the lock on his manacle.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been down there, head lolling, shaking all over in helpless rage, before the ship pitched just _so_ and he spotted a loose nail that came rolling past his foot.

Immediately Loki had gone into action. It took some dexterity, and some timing, but he was able to pick it up between his toes and then flick it high enough into the air he was able to catch it in one hand.

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been either that he’d been standing there, straining, as he worked at the arduous task that was using an improvised lock-pick with the tips of his fingers on a bolt he could barely reach and couldn’t even see.

But he would not give up. Whether by magic or cunning or sheer force of will, no one could hold Loki for long in a place he didn’t want to be.

And at present there was no place that he wanted to be less than this.

“Finally,” he couldn’t resist croaking out, with a small gasp, when the lock at last came free. He pulled his hand out and by twisting and maneuvering was able to slip out the other one.

His shoulders throbbed, the tips of his fingers tingling. Loki rubbed at his wrists, frowning at the faint red marks left behind, and then quickly went about putting what little clothing he had on him to rights. Then very purposefully he reached out and seized one end of the small table, pushing it over with a noisy smash.

Outside, there was a surprised shout from the guard, and then the man threw the door open and rushed in.

What he saw when he got inside was Loki, still standing close by the chains that had restrained him, half crouched over and looking up at the guard with a start. He raised his hands, ready for a fight. The man strode forward, one hand a fist ready to swing as with the other he reached to grab Loki’s shoulder. His grasp went through empty air.

The illusion he was staring at vanished as behind him, Loki moved from his spot behind the door and snatched the small sword from the slaver’s belt.

The man turned around in time only to give Loki a look of complete shock as the sorcerer viciously stabbed him through the gut with his own weapon.

The sword went all the way through, driven by something deep within Loki, agitated.

As the dead body slumped to the floor he had to brace one foot on the corpse to pull the sword free. The blade and his hands were sticky and coated with blood, and for a moment he stared at them distantly.

Then his eyes refocused, glinting, hard. He wiped the sword off on the dead man’s shirt and transferred it to his dominant hand.

The floor still pitched about a bit. Loki took a wide stance, bracing feet apart. He glanced around the room one last time for anything else that could be used as a weapon, found nothing, and left.

He didn’t consider for an instant bringing the chains with him to use. He didn’t want to touch the things.

Outside the door Loki found himself in a narrow hallway that led to a set of stairs that seemed to have the light of day behind them. It was the best chance out he could see, with no windows and no other doors. Quickly, though still wary of his surroundings, Loki walked toward the steps.

As he looked up towards the top three slavers suddenly appeared in the opening. With angry yells they noticed Loki immediately and moved to attack him. He gripped his blade, more than ready for a fight.

The space was too small for all three of them to squeeze through at once and they were forced to approach him single file. It proved to be their downfall. Loki swung his sword high at the first one that came within reach, parrying only a few thrusts before finishing him off with a stab to the neck.

He threw his weapon like a knife and pierced the second slaver straight in the heart before he could even get off the stairs. The man groaned and futilely clutched at his chest before falling over backward, pinning the third beneath his literal dead weight.

As the third slaver cursed and struggled to free himself Loki stepped forward, snapping his fingers and summoning the twisting green touch of a curse to his hand.

Dropping to one knee with a hiss of grim satisfaction he curled his fist like claws around the man’s face, listening to his yells of agony as the dark corrosion instantly ate away at him.

Loki’s heart was thudding in his chest as he moved away from the three bodies, not even bothering to retrieve any weapons as he climbed up the stairs.

The daylight he thought he’d seen turned out to be a lantern. He wasn’t on the deck of the _Ariel_ but on yet another floor still inside her, a wider hall with doors on either side leading straight to another set of stairs. Loki’s shoulders dropped slightly as he let out a faint sigh.

There was a single man on this floor halfway between the set of stairs Loki had just climbed and the next. He was slumped against the wall, dozing, but started awake at the sound of Loki’s approach.

He swung a fist at Loki’s head drunkenly and missed by a mile, staggering. Loki ripped a board straight from the wall and twirled it in his hands gracefully much like he would a staff, using the flat end to bash the man in the back of the head.

Though it was hardly an exerting exercise Loki found himself pausing afterwards, leaning against the wall with one hand as he stopped to catch his breath.

When he took a step forward the room spun a moment and he was forced to stop again. He pressed a palm to his forehead, and realized he was sweating faintly. Something was wrong.

His head felt heavy, his neck loose, all of his limbs not quite balanced and somehow disjointed. He could still move but he had to focus, and everything was in a bit of a fog. His breaths were coming slow and heavy in his chest. And his skin felt…hypersensitive. It prickled uncomfortably at every sensation.

Poison? But all the men he felled had been barely able to touch him. Whatever it was it would’ve had to have been before that.

Senses dulled, heart fluttering, Loki leaned his upper back against the wall and reached to rub at his neck. As his fingers brushed his pulse point a strange sound escaped his throat. Everything _tingled_.

It took a moment to identify the feeling that rushed his body then, so out of place was it. _Arousal_ , throbbing and needy and refusing to be ignored.

Head spinning in confusion and anxiety Loki tried making sense of it – and then he remembered the bowl of water Alaria had sitting out already when he came to, the one she had used to soak his skin.

Loki felt his stomach clench in a combination of rising agitation and certainty. That herbal smell that had seemed so thick in the room, had it only been coming from what Alaria had been drinking, or had it also been coming from the fluid she applied to him? Had it just been the light or had the bowl had a faint greenish tint?

He remembered Alaria’s aggressive certainty as she tried to force herself on him, the way it almost didn’t seem to occur to her he might wish to fight back.

_“Let me know when he becomes more receptive.”_

As he stood there, he gradually became aware of a residue he could feel clinging thinly to the exposed parts of his body.

 _Of course,_ Loki thought, feeling himself a fool.

Alaria had drugged him with some sort of potent aphrodisiac, something that made it hard to resist, to do _anything_ else. Mixed with the water, she probably thought it would be absorbed through his skin and go to work quickly. But Loki wasn’t Mermish – though that seemed to only mean it took longer to go into effect.

He shoved himself slowly away from the wall, eyes half-lidded, head lowered, as he tried taking stock of his senses.

He was, to put it bluntly, in dire straits. His body was flushed and tender, instinctively craving another’s touch even as the knowledge of what was happening to him sent his skin crawling. It was a giddy detached high that plagued him like a fever. Try as he might he couldn’t shake it off.

He focused on what lay ahead, letting the rush of adrenaline that already came with his arousal feed into his muscles, priming himself for escape.

The knowledge that he was drugged only made him feel more frantic. He had to get _out_ of there. Before anything even worse happened.

Legs stiff, planting feet firmly one in front of the other, Loki trailed the wall with one hand and used it to help keep upright as he kept going.

Climbing the stairs felt like agony, for specific reasons he preferred not to focus on. Every motion jarred his body, reminding him of his all-too-present physical need. The second set of steps seemed to go on much longer than the first. But against his face he felt the cool touch of an outside breeze, and he could hear far away the shouting of sailors. Encouraged, Loki went on.

Once on the deck he discovered it was night, not day. He had lost more than an entire twenty-four hours to his captivity. At first none of the men on the ship even noticed him – for, as he discovered second, they had something else on their minds.

Cutting in loud across the swell of the waves and the fixated shouts of the men came the booms of cannon fire. The vessel was under attack.

Splinters of wood went everyone as one lobby aimed high and took out part of a mast. The second must’ve crashed into the side of the ship for the _Ariel_ shook violently. Many of the men lost their footing.

Loki slipped and fell backwards, hitting the wall as he had a narrow miss with tumbling right back down the stairs. All the air went out of him in a gasp as his agitated body overreacted to the sensation. For an instant he was terrified he would black out.

“Hey – look! Over there!”

Loki’s eyes flew open to find he had been spotted, one of the slavers looking right at him as he pointed him out fiercely to the other nearby men.

As they ran towards him Loki swiftly lunged forward from the stairs onto the deck proper so that he could fight them on equal footing. 

Hand to hand combat was difficult in his drugged condition but he was able to manage. Five of them surrounded him but he picked them off brutally, spells and fists flying as he snapped bones and sent their crumpled bodies one by one to the deck.

His limbs were too sluggish and his anger overwhelmed him too easily, all his usual grace lost as he was forced to rely more on brute strength. It was bloody and distasteful but it got the job done.

He was fast, efficient, an animal released from a cage and tearing through all that came before it on the path to freedom.

An illusion dazzled the last opponent’s eyes then Loki slipped under his grasp, moving skillfully so the weight of the man’s attack was transferred against him and he lost his footing, falling forward into Loki’s arms.

He’d dispatched them all so quickly that other slavers were only just now noticing. Most of the crew was still completely focused on the battle. He could see them rushing to prepare their cannons so they could fire back, and looking out past the ship at the water he finally saw who they were fighting against: a short distance away, though not near enough to get a line over, a small sleek frigate with a dark hull and a grinning skull for a figurehead.

The _Skull and Bones_. Loki’s heart leapt in recognition, and he felt a fresh new surge of hope.

More men were approaching him now, and these were smart enough to come armed. He was running out of time. With a quick jerk Loki twisted the head of the man he was holding, snapping his neck. Dropping the body he rushed in a straight path making a beeline for the side of the ship, uncaring.

His pursuers yelled at him as they gave chase. Loki only looked back to see how close they were.

There was no sign of Alaria anywhere, a fact for which he was obscenely grateful. He didn’t want her to glimpse him while he was under the effects of her drug – didn’t want for her to know she had even that small victory over him by reducing him to this state.

Loki reached the side of the ship and paused for a moment, one foot braced up on the railing. He looked off in the distance at the _Skull and Bones_.

He could make out Darcy, Siún, Sif and the Warriors Three on the deck. And at that moment there was no confliction brought on by memory. He only felt gratitude and relief.

“Avast!” one of the slavers shouted from behind, pointing a sword at him. Loki spared a glance over his shoulder. “Stop right there!”

Loki made no move to obey. Spreading his arms wide he leapt over the side of the ship, escaping.

As he fell he teleported away in a flash of light.

*

On the deck of the pirate ship the crew was in the middle of passing iron balls and black powder, getting ready to load the cannons for another volley. With no warning they were interrupted when Loki teleported in among them.

Darcy shied away, covering her eyes at the flash of light. When everything cleared she and the others stared in amazement.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, surprised.

“Loki!” exclaimed Fandral.

The five pirates looked on as their comrade took a step back, leaning against the rail as he pressed one hand to his forehead. He was missing most of his clothes, his hair was damp and his skin was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. But otherwise he appeared fine and uninjured.

“You’re all right,” Sif said in relief tempered by wry annoyance – of course they’d come all this way only to have Loki rescue himself.

“How did you escape?” Volstagg wondered aloud.

They closed in on him, ready to greet their comrade. Darcy went in for a hug, and was startled when Loki suddenly jerked upright, ducking her embrace and pushing past her.

“Hey, what gives,” she demanded. But her tone softened as she caught the way he gulped at the air, the dazed look to his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Loki twisted to look at the bodies encircling him, arms raised as if to shield himself. He stepped away from them, staggering more inward towards the cabin.

“Please. Stay away from me. Keep your distance,” he pleaded, and when a hand shot out intending to take his arm and help steady his pace, he cried in panic, “ _No_. No one touch me!”

They stared on in concern and bemusement. Loki tripped, or perhaps flung himself facedown to the floor. He seemed to cower in like he was trying to cover his body. Volstagg removed his greatcoat and started to hand it to him – Loki snatched it out of his fingers, draping it over his body and curled up underneath.

There was fear in his eyes, face wracked with anxiety. He was sweating and feverish, trembling. Something had obviously happened to him though the others couldn’t think as to what.

Loki shut his eyes and swallowed as he tried to control himself, and made a small whimper.

“What is this?” Volstagg said in a worried tone, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” Fandral tried asking Loki, but the other man seemed unable to answer. Crossing arms in front of his chest he lowered his face to the deck.

“They…she…” The words tumbled out breathlessly, and he shook his head. He looked mortified. “I can’t.”

The Asgardians looked at one another, speechless. Darcy walked over and knelt down by Loki, though the sight of her so close to him only increased his distress.

“We can’t help you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong,” she told him, trying for both beseeching and placating. “C’mon Loki, talk. What did they do to you?”

He only shook his head again, mouth twisting, looking like he was going to choke.

“They drugged him.”

Darcy’s head shot up to find Siún standing nearby, slightly further from Loki. She gazed down at him, watching, with that strange detached composure on her face Darcy didn’t think she had seen of the other woman for a while.

“Didn’t they?” Siún continued, asking Loki with an air of certainty. He gulped and managed to nod. Turning her head aside she addressed the others. “Something that charnel house owners use to keep their numbers high. It causes a very strong, prolonged sensation of physical arousal.”

“It…” Fandral trailed off, puzzled look replaced by one of shocked understanding. Similar expressions were appearing on the faces of the others as well.

They looked to Loki, his eyes darting in humiliation as he avoided all their gazes. Studied the contorted agony in his face, and realized what he was feeling was not _pain._

“You mean you’re -- _oh_ ,” Volstagg summed up, eloquently. The Asgardians all looked suitably awkward and took a step back. Sif averted her gaze.

“Oh,” Darcy echoed, and she quickly got up off the floor and gave Loki some distance.

His mouth spasmed in a brief, grateful smile, but his relief was only fleeting. Bending forward practically in half his fists tightened and he looked like he was possibly about to laugh, or maybe even cry.

“Is there nothing we can do for him?” Sif questioned in an aside.

“It has to wear off,” Siún said, flat.

“How long does _that_ take?” Hogun demanded.

“It depends on how much they gave him.” Siún considered it. “He should be fine by morning.”

“Thank the nine for that.” Fandral gestured at Loki, being careful not to touch him. “Why don’t you, ah, head on onto the cabin-?”

He didn’t even have to finish. Loki made it to his feet, a tight sound of agreement to that plan in his throat, and hurried off inside the cabin as fast as he could move. The door slammed shut behind him.

When Fandral turned around again, hands on his hips, the others realized he was chuckling.

“Oh, what? You must admit it’s a _little_ funny.” In response to the surprised and taken aback stares he was getting, he gave a wide smile of indignation. “Well like the rest of you I thought he was hurt! Instead, he…” Fandral gave a meaningful tilt to his head.

Siún’s voice was grave. “It’s not pleasant. The drug is designed to force a physical urge that can’t be resisted, no matter what else you might be thinking or feeling.” She looked down briefly.

“Many of us don’t want to have children, knowing we’ll only be condemning them to a lifetime as slaves. So breeders have to make us have them. They select a couple, drug them, and then throw them in a crowded shed together. Some low rate breeders do it with several males and several females at one time.”

In the wake of that story the group on the deck was stony silent. Fandral looked suitably dismayed.

“We need to keep moving,” Hogun ordered, as ever the one to keep them on target. “It’s time to get out of here.”

The _Ariel_ had stopped firing back, possibly thrown into a state of confusion by Loki’s escape. But the pause in the attack couldn’t last long and they were in no shape to take on the larger ship in a full-scale battle. It was time for a retreat.

Siún remained listlessly where she was. Darcy walked off around the far side of the cabin, face unreadable. The Asgardians shook themselves and refocused, splitting in different directions to attend to the sailing.

All of them, that is, except for Volstagg.

He waited until the others were gone, the space completely quiet again. Then he looked at Siún, who had been watching him with an air of mild confusion.

“What you just described,” he began, and then stopped. He needed another moment to fortify himself. “These happenings. They are commonplace?”

“Very,” Siún answered, wary and puzzled by the question. “It’s a way of life.”

“I see,” Volstagg managed shortly, his head giving a very tight nod. He took a step towards Siún, playing with his hands. His face was ashen.

It took him yet another moment, but when he met her eyes his expression was tense with sorrow, concern, and anger.

“I’m sorry to even ask, but I need to know. Was this ever done to you?”

Siún shook her head as she finally understood what his fear was. “No,” she reassured him. “No one ever tried. Nothing like that.” Volstagg didn’t say anything. Her voice grew more musing as she shrugged and hugged herself. “I’ve only ever been with one – and it wasn’t for any kind of purpose like that, or even out of affection. We were both young; he was something like a brother to me. But we decided to lay together, so that…we would no longer be virgins.”

She smiled wryly, a sad little twist.

“Purity is an attractive feature on the market. An owner can sell an untouched slave’s first time for a high price. We didn’t want them to have that option, so we took it from them.”

“One small act of rebellion from the otherwise compliant,” Volstagg mused. He was smiling faintly, ironically, as well. He let out his breath in a sigh and his face fell.

He moved towards her, and Siún slipped closer so that she could be in his arms, closing her eyes as she tucked her head under his chin. Volstagg caressed the side of her neck with the whole length of his palm, and tenderly cupped her cheek.

“Oh, my sweetest love,” he murmured. “When I think of anyone having the gall to touch you, to treat you like that…”

“It’s all right,” Siún shushed him, soothing. She patted his cheek. He pulled her in tight, hand going to the back of her neck.

Then carefully he tugged at her, moving his head back enough so their eyes could meet. “I will never let anyone do that to you, do you understand?” he swore heatedly. “Not on this world or any other. So long as it is my gift to do so, I will protect you.”

There was a pause as Siún gazed up into his eyes, not sure what to do with having him say such a thing to her, overwhelmed. Then slowly a gentle and loving smile broke out on her face.

“Thank you,” she told Volstagg. She stroked his chin, and they held one another close.

*

Several hours later, half the crew had gone to sleep, the only souls that remained out on deck belonging to those that had watch duty.

Sif did a walk around the perimeter of the ship, tracing the deck from bow to stern. In truth she was glad she’d been given watch that night. It would give her some time to work off the restlessness she was feeling before she went to sleep.

Tilting her head back as she moved, at a slow and regular pace, she looked up at the night sky. All was calm and dark, and the stars shone brightly.

There was a peaceful, almost unearthly quiet on the vessel all around. The wind had died and the ship was practically dead in the water, the faint sound echoing of waves lapping at the hull. If Sif looked she could make out the ocean immediately around and nothing else. The rest of the night had been swallowed up by a fine damp mist.

Returning to the round she was making, Sif turned a corner and was startled when she saw Darcy standing there. Her arms were folded and she was still fully dressed, betraying that she hadn’t made even an attempt at slumber. Sif had thought the mortal long retired for the night, but evidently she’d been wrong.

“Good evening, Darcy,” she greeted her gently, as she walked over to take a place at her side. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Darcy turned her head, blinking, caught unawares. Clearly she had been lost in her thoughts.

“Oh. Hey, Sif. And no, I couldn’t,” the young woman replied. “I guess you could say right now I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She went back to gazing blindly ahead again. Sif nodded anyway.

“Yes. We did have an especially trying day.”

Darcy gave no reply. Not a spoken one, anyway. Slowly she looked across her shoulder in the opposite direction – at the closed door leading into the silent cabin. Sif followed her eyes, and her tongue felt too thick just then for her to continue speaking.

There had been no sign of Loki since he had retreated inside. None had dared try to disturb him.

Sif wondered if the drug had worn off and he was finally free to find peace in sleep – or if he was still forced to wakefulness, suffering from his degrading and unsettling ailment.

“Do you think,” Darcy began speaking, and then stopped, biting her lip. She tried again, “Do you suppose he’s okay by now? That that stuff is worn off, or…?”

Sif wasn’t surprised their thoughts had been following the same line. “I couldn’t say. I have never seen anything like this before; on Asgard we know nothing of such foul concoctions.” She hesitated and then shook her head as she recalled what Siún had told them. “However I have my doubts.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said slowly, with great resignation. “Me too.”

They lapsed into speechlessness, and the two of them stood there, heads turning as they glanced here and there but rarely at one another.

Sif thought she understood Darcy’s anxiety. She was worried for Loki’s wellbeing too; from what she had seen, they all were. But Darcy was so much closer to Loki than anyone else. Perhaps closer than any had ever been.

In the old days Sif had thought she and the younger prince had a strong, almost secretive, accord. But even then she didn’t think she’d been able to draw such behavior out of him as she witnessed between him and Darcy, the frequent hugs and friendly prods in the shoulder, conversations full of so much easy laughter.

Loki was a different person around Darcy – the best possible version of the young man Sif had once thought she knew.

Darcy sucked in a breath suddenly, breaking the silence. Sif looked to her in curiosity.

“Maybe I should go in there,” Darcy offered, pondering out loud. There was resoluteness already in her face – clearly she’d been turning the matter over extensively for quite some time. “You know. I could…help him out.”

Sif blinked once at the meaningfulness in her tone, then the color drained from her cheeks as what the other woman was saying caught up to her.

“I do not think that would be a good idea.”

“No? Why not?” Darcy argued. “If anything it might be the best possible solution. I mean, Loki needs to get it out of his system, and having me there would _have_ to make it more pleasant than having to wrestle one-handed with his magic wand. And well, I already hooked up with Fandral. So in a way this would just be like evening the score. Right?”

Before Sif could respond, Darcy nodded to herself.

“Yeah. It makes sense. I’m gonna go for it.”

Swiftly Sif latched onto her hand above the wrist, fixing her with a steely gaze.

“Don’t,” she ordered, stern. “It would be a terrible mistake. And if you would only stop for one moment and _think_ , surely you would realize that for yourself.”

Darcy’s mouth dropped open. “But-”

“ _Darcy_. What happened between you and Fandral was not anything like what would happen between you and Loki.” Sif inhaled, giving a firm shake to her head. “And though you only mean it as a favor, Loki would not see it that way. He would never be able to get over the two of you coupling while he was in such a state. He would resent it.”

It would be an unspeakable affront to his pride. Both that Darcy would see him when he was so vulnerable, but also to think that she came to him under such easy and meaningless circumstances as she did with Fandral. Like the greater potential that lay between them was so swiftly set aside.

Darcy meant it as help she would only give to a dearest friend, but Loki twisted things around back on themselves – in his mind it would be as good as a dismissal. In anger and bitterness, he would never let romance blossom on a path that’d already been tread under comprised circumstances.

“No,” Darcy said, gradual. She looked ashamed, having no doubt realized all the same things for herself. “You’re right, Sif. That was…it’d be a really stupid, terrible idea. It’d totally screw up everything.”

Sif relaxed her fingers and Darcy pulled her hand free, drifting off to one side and shaking her head.

“I have no idea what I was thinking just now.”

“You were trying to help,” Sif offered. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know that you care for Loki greatly.”

“Yeah, but so do you, right?” Darcy remarked, careless. Then she looked up at Sif sharply, hand flying to her mouth as if she could somehow take it back. “Uh, I mean – crap. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t say anything.”

“Darcy, slow down. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” It wasn’t entirely true though; at least, she had a suspicion.

Darcy cringed. “It’s just that, you know, you and Loki. I get that you’re still pissed with one another, and all that. But you in particular, compared to the rest of the guys, it just seems like it’s…really personal. And, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining it. But sometimes I get the impression that there’s more history between you and him.”

Sif breathed in and out once, steady. “There is.”

She had no qualms about telling the truth to Darcy. Maybe if it had been anyone else – but if it’d been anyone _else_ , she doubted highly they ever would have guessed it. All of Asgard had remained unseeing to the possibility of her and Loki for centuries.

Sif was proud, guarded, but she was not ashamed of her feelings. And considering the mortal’s tangential involvement in things, she figured she had a right to know.

Darcy’s voice was shrill. “Oh my god, I _knew_ it. I so called it! Uh – I’ll shut up, if you don’t want to talk to me about this,” she amended, causing Sif to give a small smile.

“There never was anything genuine to speak of,” she informed her. “Not in action, nor even in words. But, there could have been.” Her voice softened, and she felt a brief, disjointed pang of mourning. “Might have been.” She shut her eyes forcefully. “ _Would_ have been, perhaps, except-”

“Except, Loki went kind of crazy for a while and then left on a really long backpacking trip across the universe?” Darcy finished, tentative. “Yeah. You don’t even have to try and explain. I totally get it.” She nodded as she looked Sif in the eye. “If the guy I was crushing on had a mental breakdown and pulled some really ugly bullshit, it would be a deal-breaker for me too.”

“There is too much between us now,” Sif stated in a subdued manner. “Too much ugliness. And anger. Even were we both willing to try, it would not be healthy.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said to her gingerly. “It might not have been an actual breakup, but it’s never pleasant when things end in an unhappy way.”

“I have no regrets,” Sif replied, simple. She shrugged. Then managing another smile she reached out to rest a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “If anything, it means the way is fully clear for another.”

“Oh, come on, stop.” Darcy laughed, rolling her eyes. Then she fixed her gaze on Sif intently. “Are we having a girl moment here? Wow.” She grinned, beyond pleased with the turn of events. “We absolutely are!”

Sif’s responding smirk was wry. “Contrary to perhaps popular belief at times, it is not impossible for me to embrace my womanhood.”

Darcy ignored her, slinging an arm over one shoulder and pulling her in for one half of a hug.

“One of these days: you, me and Jane, a night in with bowls full of Haagen-Dazs and no boys allowed. We’ll paint each other’s nails, and we’ll introduce you to the wonder that is Julia Roberts in her prime. It’ll be epic. I promise.”

*

The morning found Loki stretched out on his back on the bed within the cabin, blanket wrapped tightly around him.

Perhaps against expectations, once his intoxication wore off he had fallen fast into a deep and restful slumber. Upon waking it took him some time to rouse fully to consciousness.

He pried his eyes open and looked around, remembering himself as he moved to a sitting position, distributing his weight to the palms of his hands as he pushed up.

His eyelids still felt heavy, crusted, and Loki blinked several times. He shook his head a little. Then he looked down, cringing at how he was coated in the dried sweat of last night’s exertions, but mostly reveling with surprise at how refreshed and strong and whole his body felt once more.

It was into the thick of morning now. He could tell it by the smell in the air, the energy, by the feel of the sunlight against his bare skin. And with that knowledge came the wash of such relief.

Last night had been, plainly put, a torment – one of the worst he had ever faced. Not just for the physical sensation but the mental and emotional elements as well.

He had been undone, made to feel and behave like a beast with no control over his own faculties. He’d been made weak and desperate, for all to see, and all at the whims of another.

Loki had done his best to maintain control. He had lain down in the dark alone and waited for the feeling to subside. But it was for naught – the time ticked by and he couldn’t stop it. He’d writhed against the sheets, teeth clenched, moaning, his body begging for release.

And when he’d finally given it to himself – well, the drug was very potent. It had taken more than once to purge it from his system.

Loki still felt distantly the sense of violation, of misery and bleak anger. And he was taking note of the score he fully intended to eventually settle with Alaria.

But now that the night was over and the worst had come and gone, he found he simply couldn’t focus on that. He was far too glad.

He was free; he could think, and feel, and be of himself again. There was no space to dwell on anything else.

Letting out his breath in a deep sigh of relief Loki closed his eyes again, sinking back down into the pillow.

He remained that way for a short time when his solitude was broken by a knock at the door.

“Um, hey, Loki?” His eyes flew open at the familiar sound of Darcy’s voice. “It’s me. Are you awake? I thought I heard you moving. Is it okay if I come in?”

For a moment Loki stilled completely, considering. He was in no remotely fit state for company. But it seemed absurd to pretend as if she couldn’t guess what had happened. And, it occurred to him, they were owed a happy reunion. Last night he’d been too otherwise occupied to feel or express his joy at having escaped, or meeting his friend once more afterward.

Lying down he arranged the blanket over himself so that he was completely covered all the way up to his armpits. He propped his upper body up on the pillow.

“Yes. You may enter,” he called.

The door opened only a crack and Darcy slipped in sideways, tiptoeing as if afraid to let in the light and disturb him more. She looked tired, and he felt concern at the possibility she had been up all night worrying for him. But her smile was genuine when she looked at Loki.

“Hey you. How’s it going?” She came over to the bedside, taking him in at a glance. “You look like you’re feeling much better.”

“I am,” he told her, nodding. “That cursed drug is out of my system, and I feel much more refreshed.”

“Not to mention probably a lot more stress free,” Darcy said bluntly.

Loki could feel a faint flush of color rising to his face, and Darcy ducked her head and coughed, belatedly feeling the embarrassment of the situation once she saw she’d drawn that reaction out of him.

Modern mortals, Loki had found, could be notably…cavalier about such things. Asgard was a far from prudish place, but open and frank discussion of sex was reserved for very specific times and places.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Darcy went, stressing her desire to keep moving and past the subject, “I’m really glad that you’re okay. I was pretty freaked out by how upset you were, not gonna lie.”

“As always, I’m touched by your concern.” Loki’s glib smile was at war with his more sincere gesture of reaching out to rest one of his hands atop hers. “But that ordeal is over now.”

Darcy’s expression fell into somberness.

“You got kidnapped,” she reminded him. “By a…total despicable _bitch_ who was going to _sell_ you to somebody, and keep you locked up in a cage for the rest of your life. And all I could do was hang on and hope we could catch up to you in time.” She clutched his hand tight. “It was really scary.”

He squeezed her fingers in return, gentle. “Such is a part of the warrior’s life, I’m afraid. Having to experience such things when losing sight of one’s comrades. I regret you had to be put through it on my behalf.”

“Stop it.” Darcy pulled her hand back so she could quickly rub one eye, wiping away an errant tear. Loki was relieved to see no more were coming. “Stop talking like _I’m_ the one who had the rough time, when you were the _idiot_ who got himself captured.”

Loki frowned. “It was hardly my fault,” he complained, petulant. “I certainly didn’t wish to be knocked unconscious, nor chained to a wall.”

“You were chained up, even?” Darcy exclaimed. “Like a dog? I…” A very strange, dark look came over her face.

Loki realized he had never seen her so angry before. Or maybe just never experiencing this particular type of anger.

“I _hate_ Alaria,” she stated quietly. “Completely hate her. I want to see bad things happen to her. I’ve never felt this way about somebody before. I don’t think I like it.”

“Nor should you,” Loki assured her, feeling cold. Never mind that the rage he’d felt at being subjugated had briefly tapped into his darker side.

He felt a note of instinctual fear at the thought of such a thing being somehow cultivated in Darcy.

“I won’t lie to you – what happened to me wasn’t pleasant. I was…wronged.” Briefly he recalled scaled and webbed hands touching him, and he swallowed past it. “I want revenge against Alaria, and I fully intend to have it. But it’s over now, and done. I do not wish to think on it anymore.”

“Right,” Darcy said understandingly, agreeing. “No, I get it. There’s no need to talk about that, now. You’re back. You’re safe. That’s the only part that matters.”

“Exactly.” Loki shared another smile with her.

There was a beat. “Is it okay to hug you now,” Darcy asked, “or are you still feeling all…weird?”

It was Loki’s turn to cough. “I’m not. But…believe me, you don’t want to. I need to take a bath first.” He glanced down at the blanket and the bed, grimacing. “And before you return to this room for the night, I must wash all of your linens.”

“Okay. Gotcha.” Glancing away, Darcy took note of his pants in a sad crumpled pile on the floor. “Guess you’ll have to magic yourself up some new clothes.”

“Yes.”

“Or Siún could make you some more. She offered to.”

“No, no.” Loki stopped avoiding eye contact. “That won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly able to provide for myself. But I’ll thank her for the offer. It’s gracious of her.”

“Well, she’s basically like one of us now,” Darcy told him. “Part of the whole big dysfunctional family. And she was just as worried as the rest of them.”

“If not more so,” Loki murmured.

Darcy’s eyes widened and she fixed him with an intense look. “Wait a second. You _do_ get that the other guys were worried about you, right? You don’t think that it was just me."

“I’m certain that their guilt, and their fear of returning to Asgard to face Thor without me quickened their pace quite a bit,” Loki stated.

He had no doubt Sif and the Warriors Three had expressed a great deal of worry – he just doubted it was for the reasons Darcy thought.

Darcy crouched down, hands on her knees, as close to the bedside as could get without actually sitting on it. Her mouth pressed into a hard line, she glared at him.

“Loki,” she began, “you have got to cut it out. These people are your _friends_. I’ve had it about up to here with you and your isolationist bullshit!”

“They were my brother’s friends,” he said back to her, perhaps more shortly than he intended. “They tolerated me. And now-” He dropped off abruptly, scrubbing his face with one hand. Lifting his head again he gave her a beseeching gaze. “Darcy, after all your experiences with me, has it not occurred that I find ‘friendship’ somewhat difficult?”

“Oh, and so that’s an excuse to not even try?” She was unmoved. “To just…try and be perfectly happy living the rest of your life alone, with your books and your magic tricks?”

“I am perfectly content living that way,” he said hotly.

“Yeah, but you don’t have much a _life_.”

Loki shook his head, frustrated with how she didn’t understand. “Asgard is…not entirely an easy place for me. It’s my home. But in some ways I will never truly belong. On Asgard, I have my family; if I want friends, I visit Earth.”

“You’re not exactly mister popularity on Earth, either,” Darcy said, sounding equally frustrated with him. “You’ve got, what: me, and Captain America, and that emotionally disturbed girl you pal around with at that clinic in Maine?”

“Yes – I have you, and Steve, and Wanda,” Loki responded tersely. “For me, that’s enough on its own.”

“That’s three people,” Darcy cried. “You could have at least four more. All I’m asking that you do is try. That you stop acting like you don’t have a chance with these guys, when, if you were paying attention, you’d see that’s anything but true.”

“You have your own convictions,” Loki said, firmly, in a tone that indicated he considered the matter settled. “And I have mine. I know you think you’re only trying to help me, Darcy. But I’m done talking about this.”

Darcy shut her mouth tight, lips curling together as if she was physically restraining the other words from coming out.

“Fine,” she said finally, after a moment or two. “What can I say? It’s your life. And I guess you have known them longer than me. And anyway, I don’t want to fight with you right now. Not when I’m still so crazy ecstatic about you being back and still alive and safe.”

Loki gave a small, if thin and tired, laugh. But it seemed a good enough note to go out on.

“I’m gonna leave you to get dressed.” Darcy went to the door. “I expect you to remember to let me give you a ‘welcome back’ hug later, once you stop being all, you know…sticky.”

The door shut tight behind her before either of them could feel awkwardness start to settle.

*

After he had bathed and summoned up a new outfit for himself (virtually identical to the old) Loki considered what he should do next, and decided there was no reason not to return to his shipboard duties.

He went down to his berth, but there was no sign of either the log or his ledger. The rest of his things were still carefully tucked up inside his hammock so he knew they hadn’t simply rolled away. They must have been taken.

He was standing there with a frown, hands on his hips and brow furrowed in contemplation, when a strange noise from the storeroom caught his attention.

Darting over, Loki looked inside and was surprised to find Siún tucked in among the shelves.

There was an upset carton on the floor, and she was ducking and rubbing her forehead, saying a curse to herself in muttered Krawk. The object must have fallen while she was poking around and hit her.

“What are you doing?” Loki questioned, approaching her in bafflement. In her hand she was holding his ledger book, and a smudged piece of writing charcoal.

Siún looked up at him, startled. “Oh! You’re out of bed.” Dropping her gaze she blinked absently, hand falling away from her injured head. At least there didn’t appear to be a bruise. “I wasn’t sure if…”

“I have remarkable recovery time,” Loki interrupted her. “Far greater than that of your people, I surmise. There’s no need for me to waste my time resting.”

“But you could have,” Siún rebutted, quietly, and Loki fixed his eyes on her face better in curious interest. “If you wanted to.” She indicated the book in her hands. “I was trying to make the new account for you, so that you wouldn’t have to go back to work right away.”

“That was very kind of you, and helpful.” Gently Loki took the ledger from her with both hands. “But as you can see, it’s unnecessary. You should go, and attend to your own tasks – so that you don’t get worn out doing both yours and mine.”

“If you’re certain.” Siún nodded in acquiescence.

He couldn’t help noticing how much her attitude had changed since last time he’d a similar confrontation with her. True, she was naturally soft-spoken, but no longer so automatically out of fear. She was still mild, but no longer meek.

“Do you know where the logbook is?” Loki asked her.

“Possibly with the captain. I know she took it for safekeeping,” Siún told him. “Either she held onto it, or she said something about giving it to Sir Fandral to keep with the charts.”

“I see.” He hoped it was still with Darcy. Uncharacteristically fortunate as he’d been with hanging onto the map so far, it would not have been unlike Fandral to have forgotten and lost the item somewhere.

Loki gave Siún a small nod, intending it as a respectful sign of dismissal, glancing absently around at the storeroom as he took a step back towards the door. Then he stopped in his tracks as he got a really good look at everything, realizing in an instant something was wrong.

Two days ago the larder had been crammed full to capacity. Now, well, it was hardly bare, but the shelves were noticeably emptier. There were spaces, and some containers seemed lower than they should have been.

“What happened?” Loki did a slow pivot on one heel, making sure he hadn’t missed something, and then faced Siún again with an inquisitive stare. “How did we lose so much?”

“On the way to rescue you, we passed through a fierce storm. Rather than turn back and try to find a route around it the crew wanted to push forward. So we had to toss much of the hold overboard.”

Loki gazed at her, momentarily speechless as he absorbed that.

“I see,” he finally managed. “I…should get to this immediately, and see what exactly was jettisoned. Thank you, for your help.”

Siún went back to the kitchen and Loki was left alone to comb the ransacked hold thoroughly, going through his ledger notes as he figured out what they still had and didn’t have of the cargo.

Loki was of a scholarly nature, but he was no bookkeeper; he much preferred words to numbers. But his mind’s ability to grasp and hold facts, combined with his training in the patterns of magic, meant he was naturally very good at figures.

All in all, he was aghast to see that they had lost nearly half of the hold. This was not as bad as it might have sounded: they’d been carrying quite a lot to begin with, and the others had clearly the sense to give up the luxury items before they started tossing the food. As long as they stuck to rations and had no more mishaps they should be fine. It was simply shocking, however, to see how much the group had been willing to sacrifice.

They were down to but a few barrels of ale, a cask of wine, and five single bottles of rum. A lot of the powder was gone, which meant Sif would have to be more economical in firing her cannons. Most of what would be deemed a ‘creature comfort’ was gone as well, including the foodstuffs that’d been the most perishable – and therefore the better tasting.

All the small chests of hoarded gold and silver, Darcy’s beloved ‘pirate booty’ they’d worked so hard to earn, had been cast out to the bottom of the sea.

Loki sat down on a container of wheat, feeling a little numb and more than a bit strange.

The crew must have decided as one to cast the lot aside. Such a massive action couldn’t have occurred without consensus. Which meant they’d been presented with the choice between reaching where he was faster, and hanging onto what they rightfully earned.

When faced with deciding between him and everything else, they had gone with Loki. It gave him something of a pause to think on.

After he had finished putting down the new sums, Loki wandered up to the kitchen for a single piece of bread to nibble on, and then finally went out on the deck.

The other four Asgardians were hanging around the main area, either relaxing or working with the ropes. When Loki appeared, one by one they stopped what they were doing and gazed at him.

Loki broke the silence first. “Has anyone seen what happened to the log I was keeping?”

“It’s up in the crow’s nest.” Fandral got to his feet. “I wrapped it in oilskin to keep it dry. I’ll go and fetch it for you.”

“There’s really no need – I can get it myself.”

“Nonsense! I insist.” And Fandral was off in a flash, before Loki could get out another protest.

His eyes were slightly wider, manner more hesitant, as he turned to face the others. The rest of them had stood as well, and they milled towards him, slowly getting closer.

“Thank you,” Loki told them politely, “for coming to get me.”

“You make it sound as if we had any choice.” Volstagg reached out and gave him a clap on the shoulder, amicably. “It’s wonderful to see that you’re all right.” He exchanged a look with the other two. “I think we were getting really worried there, for a bit. If we were too late we might’ve never seen you again.”

Hogun met Loki’s eyes and exchanged a firm nod with him. “It’s good to have you back,” he stated.

Loki only inclined his head, solemn, expressing his gratitude silently. And then he locked eyes with Sif.

The woman warrior stood more distance back from the other two, her hair blowing in the wind as she regarded Loki without expression. His throat stilled as he waited for her reaction. But when their gazes met something passed between them, and he realized they were exchanging a wordless apology.

Sif’s body came to life, and she moved in closer. Loki reached to meet her outstretched arm, the two of them crossing wrists and clasping forearms in a gesture of camaraderie.

“You were greatly missed,” she informed him. “This ship is not the same without you.”

He wondered if she only meant the literal ship, and was only referring to the past two days.

He knew better than to ask so directly, however. “Thank you.” He turned his head, including the two men as he continued to speak. “I’ve seen the hold. I know what you all did, in your efforts to come and rescue me.”

“You would’ve done the same for us,” Sif offered. It was only civil formality, but she managed a thin smile.

“Yes,” Volstagg chimed in, much more enthusiastically. “After all, is that not what friends are for?”

Loki had to swallow very suddenly in order to be able to keep speaking.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “Of course.”

After he retrieved the logbook from Fandral he went off by himself. He needed to sit down for a little while, and be alone.

They were sailing on uneventfully, and in accordance with his duties Loki jotted down three simple, neat lines in the log.

_Day nineteen._

_Day dawned cloudy. Running low on salt pork, if situation remains unchanged will divide ration in three days’ time…_

It was only later in the afternoon that he went back to find Fandral again and properly thank him for keeping track of the journal while he was gone.

“It was nothing, really,” the other continued his protest. His grin was a bit over-wide, voice stiff with forcing so much jovial carelessness. “Don’t even consider it.”

“I know it was hardly life or death, but I still appreciate it,” Loki insisted, giving an absent smirk. “I know how hard it is for you to keep track of anything that isn’t your own reflection.”

Fandral’s eyes flashed and he frowned with some pique. But after a moment he was chortling, the way he would be in the old days as they all exchanged playful barbs with one another.

“Think nothing of it, my man.” He patted Loki’s arm, beaming. “Just don’t make a habit of it, this disappearing business. I find it takes all four of us to cover for you when you do. It’s very trying.”

Loki hesitated for a beat before replying, more subdued, “I had thought you would be used to it by now.”

Fandral’s hand fell back to his side, limply, and his smile vanished. But instead of turning irate or even taken aback, his expression morphed into something more thoughtful.

He gazed at Loki, and the silence between them spoke to something complicated, and uncertain, and tinged with a shade or two of regret.

Fandral drew his head up. “I was the first to speak up to defend you, you know,” he stated. “When in the wake of Thor’s banishment we began piecing together how it was we ended up on Jotunheim in the first place. When suspicion of you was raised, immediately I leapt to say it could never be so.”

Loki stared at him. “I had no idea,” he murmured.

In truth he’d never even thought of it; by the time he’d taken the throne he knew the others had begun suspecting him, but he’d never stopped to think what it’d been like for them when they started figuring out the truth.

But he did know what it was like, to care for somebody, to trust, and to then be disappointed by them.

Neither of them could seem to think of what else to say. They looked at each other and Loki believed they were thinking over the same things: the constant competition, the arguing, and how petty it all seemed.

Fandral drew in a breath, sighing. “Loki, I-”

Before he could get out another word there was a sudden violent bubbling sound, and as the ship rocked unexpectedly both turned their heads to look ahead of the bow, where the sea churned as something variably exploded out of the water.

The head and neck of a great sea serpent loomed high over them. No beast of legend, it was still massive, several times the length of the ship and larger than just about any monster they had ever seen.

The breath puffed wet and foul from its mouth, teeth jutting it every direction. Its tail must have still been below the water but from where they stood there was no end to it in sight. It was covered in sea foam colored armor-plating scales, its body a thick undulating curve of muscle that ended in a maw wide enough to snap the _Skull and Bones_ in half.

It had tiny hungry eyes, and as it gave a shrill roar it stared down at them, clearly ready for an attack.


	5. The Dawn Treader

It was a full day later that they were finally ready to set sail again, it being late afternoon when the ship left the coast of the small island where they’d been moored while repairs were made.

The crew had dined on a lunch of fresh-caught fish and coconuts, and with the setback overcome they were in high spirits to resume the journey again.

The hull of the ship was repaired both inside and out. The mast and sails that had been damaged were replaced. The cuts and bruises sustained during the battle with the sea serpent were long gone, and the broken bones and burns mended by a mix of Asgardian fortitude and magic.

Since despite the harrowing ordeal no one had come even remotely close to dying, in the end the group looked on the incident with favor, it being yet another exciting chronicle to add to their tales of high sea adventuring.

The weather was calm and bright and the winds very favorable. They found their course again with little difficulty, picking up the journey right where they’d left off.

Work was carried out during the day unflagging amidst conversation and song. After the sun set the sleepy crew would gather on the deck to sit together for their evening meal, sharing reflections from the day and stories from the past, before slipping off to their bunks for a night full of sound slumber.

There had, however, been some undeniable losses in the form of material goods. And no amount of goodwill and optimism could cover for the fact it created some issues needing to be dealt with.

One of their cannons was gone, it having been wrenched from the hold and tumbling into the brink during the battle. With extra weight now on the port side in the extra iron, it caused the _Skull and Bones_ to develop a slight list. Nothing that’d impede them during smooth waters, but it could turn damning if they had another bad storm.

There was a heated conference and finally Sif submitted to having the odd cannon tossed. The group feeling was they could fight just as well with four as they had with six.

The issue of the cannon had only been the minor problem. The major one was the state of their supplies.

“Don’t read me off the full list of what we have or what we’re missing.” Darcy sat on the edge of the bed in her cabin, chin in her hands and elbows rested on her knees. “Please. I don’t have that kind of time or attention span right now. Just go on and get to the money shot – how bad is it?”

Loki cleared his throat lightly, urged on by the morose vexation in her tone. “Variable. We were able to replenish quite a bit of our food stores with game and fruit from the island. So, for now, it isn’t as if we’re about to starve.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him. “But?” she prompted.

“But that isn’t going to last us forever. And much of it will spoil.” Loki glanced down, flipping the pages of the ledger, not because he needed to look but as an absent gesture. “What we need if we are to sustain this voyage are more dried goods.”

Lifting his head again, he met her gaze and sighed.

“Because of the storm supplies were already at the meanest they could be without us actually being in trouble. Now with what we lost fighting the serpent, we’re down to bare bones. There will have to be a firm ration. And even then we’ll have to take on more soon – we simply can’t continue this way.”

Darcy straightened up, brushing her hands against her knees.

“Is there another harbor on the map around here where we can do some buying or trading?”

Loki’s eyebrows went up ever so slightly. “The much more sensible plan would be to pillage another ship,” he remarked.

Darcy breathed in through her nose. She paused as if she was going to say something, then without comment she got up and walked away to look out one of her tiny windows. Her back was to Loki but he could still make out her chewing nervously on one thumb.

“I had rather thought you’d be pleased to hear that,” he said, dubious. “After all you were so excited about our forays into piracy before.”

“Yeah, well, that was before.” Darcy looked at him over her shoulder. “Before it really hit me that this is…reality, you know? Whenever we board another ship we’re attacking mostly innocent people.”

She turned around sharply, pacing back towards him.

“And you know what, it’s not even that. It’s that every time there’s fighting, I’m sending my friends out there to get hurt. And what am I doing?” She spread her arms helplessly.

Loki gave her a studious look. “That is the weight of command,” he informed her. “Knowing that whatever decisions you make, your responsibility is for the lives affected by the outcome. Do you think it was any different for Thor, all those years he put himself in charge, or when he led us into battle?”

“Thor was trained for that kind of thing. He grew up prince of a warrior barbarian race,” Darcy retorted. “And at least he can fight with you guys and know he’s doing something to help out. What can I do?” She scoffed. “I’m the worst pirate captain ever. I don’t even know how to swing a sword.”

Loki was quiet for a moment. “You’re learning,” he reminded her softly.

It was true. All throughout the course of their journey, Darcy had continued her lessons with Fandral. What started out as almost a game had become at some point deadly serious, particularly after their last encounter with the slavers, and she insisted on practicing at least once every day for several hours.

And her skills were improving. She was still no match for a veteran Asgardian warrior, but she would give the mortals back on her home world that had never even held a weapon a run for their money.

Darcy shook her head. “It’s not good enough,” she argued. “I don’t like being with you guys only in spirit.”

Reaching out Loki pressed one gentle hand to cup the side of her shoulder.

“Darcy,” he began. “I know it might seem almost difficult for you to believe, but the others respect you. They wouldn’t follow you as their leader if they didn’t think you’d make your decisions for the good of us all. You cannot fight alongside your men, and you _are_ right that that’s rare for us – but _you_ are not of Asgard. And what you don’t have in martial proficiency you make up for in other strengths.”

At the beginning of his short speech Darcy had her gaze down, one booted toe scuffing the floorboards. By the time he was finished she’d slowly lifted her head so she was peering up at him, eyes bright with the glimmer of hope.

“You really think so?”

Loki gave her a thin clever smile, almost a smirk. “I may be renowned as a liar, but would I say such things to you were they not so?” His face shifted slightly as he dropped his hand, expression softening. “You’re my friend. You know that I…that I’m here for you."

He hesitated over the words, though they were no less heartfelt. Loki was simply unused to saying them.

Darcy’s face broke out in a smile and she leaned in to wrap her arms around him in a big hug. Loki returned the gesture, resting his chin on her head as he lightly brushed her hair.

“Okay,” Darcy decided with a deep breath, pulling away again. “So it’s back to piracy.” She nodded. “But I want to be super careful this time, okay? Let’s only go after the ships we know we can take.”

Loki bowed his head obediently. “Of course, Captain. I’ll pass the order onto the rest of the crew, so they know what they’re looking for when choosing our targets.”

The rest of the day was quiet and uneventful. Though every pair of eyes was scanning the horizon most eagerly, that didn’t guarantee a ship would present itself to be robbed.

Darcy wasn’t surprised – not by that, anyway. She knew better than to think things would be instantly resolved. There was however another conversation she had before the end of the day that caught her quite off-guard.

It was shortly before evening, the air getting cooler though the sky was still nice and light. Darcy was standing out on the bow alone with her hands on the rail, hair blowing in the wind as she admired the view and the smell of sea breeze.

She caught the sound of footsteps behind her and looked back a little sharply, wondering how long she’d been distracted and oblivious to a person standing there.

Her shoulders dropped when she saw it was only Siún.

“Oh, hey,” Darcy exclaimed in greeting. She twisted around, leaning one side against the railing so she could face the other woman. “How’s it been? Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, I’ve been fine.” Siún gave her a small smile in reassurance, brief. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Darcy fixed eyes on her curiously. “What about?”

It took Siún a moment to reply. She seemed to gather herself, folding her hands and taking a breath.

“When this voyage is over…after you and the others have retrieved the treasure you’ve sought. What happens next?”

Darcy frowned, puzzled. “Well after that, we go home.” She shrugged. “The only reason we’re after the treasure is because it was the only way to get the sorceress that sent us here to release us. Once our adventure is over, I’m not really sure what happens. But I figure she’s gonna do something to send us home.”

“Home,” Siún repeated. “You mean, away from here. Another world.” When Darcy nodded she paused again, before blurting out, “Take me with you.”

“What?” Darcy was dumbfounded.

“Please,” Siún entreated. “I want to go back with you. I want to leave this place.”

Darcy’s head shook as she tried understanding. “You mean…you want to come with me, back to Earth, or with the others back to Asgard-?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Siún interrupted, breathless, “so long as it is a world without slaves. A place where I can never again have to fear being captured and put back into chains.”

“Siún,” Darcy met her gaze as she said carefully, “you realize that might be a permanent one-way trip.” When the other said nothing, only set her mouth resolutely, Darcy pressed her harder. “Look, I understand that your life here completely sucked, but you would be leaving behind _everything_. Everything you’re used to, everything you know about the way the world works. It would be huge.”

“I know. And I understand.” Siún pleaded with her, “But even if I knew nothing about where I was going, I would have faith that my life there would be better than this. While I’ve been on this ship with you and the others I’ve known what _freedom_ is, what it’s like to make my own choices and be respected as an individual.” She set her teeth, head shaking. “And if it ever looked like that was about to be taken away from me again, I would gladly die.”

Darcy couldn’t help giving a smile in admiration of her conviction.

She couldn’t imagine what would happen to Siún once she arrived elsewhere, what would become of her life, but she knew that either she or the Asgardians would be there to help her. Somehow, it would all work out.

“Okay,” she promised the other woman. “If that’s what you really want, then you’ve got it. When we go, we’re taking you with us.”

Siún grasped both Darcy’s hands in her own. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you so much. For this, I will owe you everything.”

“No.” Darcy shook her head. “You basically got dragged into this adventure, and there’ve been several times you’ve helped us out already. Far as I’m concerned, consider it…payment for services rendered.”

She gave the Mermish woman a warm smile, and was gratified to see it returned.

“Besides, we’re friends now,” Darcy told her. “And friends help each other out."

“Then I am very blessed,” Siún returned quietly, “to have found myself in time with such a set of friends.”

*

Sailing at night under full sail was a risky business.

It could be the last mistake a captain ever made in unfamiliar shallows, where rocks could appear at any time, but it was almost equally as deadly in open water. There were no signs as to which way one was going, no warning if about to sail into a waterspout or a storm.

During war night movements were sometimes employed as a tactic against an enemy. Otherwise, it was reserved for those that had reason to stay concealed, smugglers or thieves or cutthroats. Those that were up to no good.

Little surprise, then, that the crew of brigands under the command of Captain Barnabas Ratchem would be sailing about in the late hours of twilight. It was when men like them did their best work.

The _Flogged Ghost_ crept forward almost silently through the gray and gloomy hours, sails half-slack to catch the wind, sweeps out treading the water to help add to her speed.

If the _Skull and Bones_ was a pirate ship right out of somebody’s fantasy story, then the _Flogged Ghost_ was one too – but from a much darker tale, where the line was thin between hauntings and nightmares, and pirates were always cast in the role of threat. Her hull was a polished dark red mahogany, aged and faded from all her years at sea. The sails were ragged and torn and then masterfully sewn back together, so they would still function at full capacity but maintain an unsettling patchwork appearance. There was an abundance of chains and ropes on a ship crewed by over thirty men, and they boasted two dozen cannons. The _Ghost_ was no man-of-war but it would intimidate and easily overpower the average merchantman or fishing vessel.

In the dark most would never see them coming – but more than that, it would add to their panic. The ship’s captain liked that. He enjoyed knowing he caused fear in the hearts of men before he made them die.

Ratchem himself stood on the forecastle close to the helm, keeping half an eye on the man at the wheel but mostly staring out ahead into the black and watery night, looking at nothing. He pulled on a jug of hard black rum with his lips at a regular pace, his dark eyes unblinking, only motion from the wind moving the tail of his coat and ends of his mustache.

When the cry came up, _“Ship ahoy!”_ \- he still didn’t move. He remained where he was and waited.

For the best, as it turned out: the more bloodthirsty of his sailors were sorely disappointed when their quarry immediately ran up the flag of surrender. Ratchem gave the order to his First and Second Mates to take a party over in the longboats, as he himself couldn’t be bothered.

A short time later the First Mate returned to him dragging along a young sailor with a bloody nose.

“This bilge rat has got some news for us, Cap’n,” the Mate told him. “Says they’ve got no coin or goods to spare, because only a few days ago they was taken by another ship called the _Skull and Bones_.”

Ratchem froze, and then very stiffly he turned around to fix the young man with an interested glower. The captured sailor cringed under the heat of his gaze.

“Is that so?” the pirate captain demanded.

The First Mate nodded, and gave the prisoner a jab to indicate he should explain. The Mate was a huge and intimidating man, and Ratchem’s own reputation was long and vicious. The sailor didn’t need to be encouraged twice.

“It’s t-true, sir. Not two days past,” he stammered. “They left our men standing but took as much as they could carry and then some.”

One side of Ratchem’s mouth twisted upwards in a quick sneer, and then he tampered it down again. This time he looked at the Mate.

“And you’re certain it was them?” he snarled.

The First Mate nodded. “Has to be,” he told his captain, confident. “They’re all telling us the same story: a little tub that came out of nowhere, dark ship flying a red flag and crewed by only half a dozen.”

Ratchem gave a sour and mean smile. He jammed the cork back into his bottle of rum.

“Two days, you say?” He cackled brusquely. “There’s only one place they could be heading now.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “We’ll have those dogs in no time.”

“And then this treasure of theirs will be ours,” the First Mate said.

“ _And_ their blood,” Ratchem declared, lips curled and teeth showing. “Taken with great pleasure. Nobody _runs_ after double-crossing me and simply gets away with it.” He made a curt gesture at the other sailor. “Take him back to his ship.”

The bloodied lad looked like he might wet himself in sheer relief. “You’re…you’re letting me go?” he asked tearfully, overjoyed.

“Well, this is your lucky day,” Ratchem informed him, short. “I don’t have time to waste slitting every one of your miserable throats. Not when I have a much more important quarry to catch.”

He marched off, shouting orders over his shoulder as he went.

“Rouse the rest of the crew! I want a new heading, and the ship ready to reach full speed by daylight!” To himself he added in a grimly pleased mutter, “We’re finally catching up to them.”

*

If the _Flogged Ghost_ was every inch visibly a ship devoted to unscrupulous piracy, then the _Silver Hound_ was its complete counterpart: an upstanding vessel of the law crewed only by the finest men of an official navy, her bearing neat and regal and austere.

Her sails were white and gold, her wood pale and well-maintained. She was but a few years old, proven in both battle and flight but new enough it was considered a privilege to man her, her design still thought to be top of the line.

That privilege of her command had fallen of late to one Captain Mikhail Royale, honored and dutiful servant of His Authority the Governor of Kraken’s Cove.

There was none who would argue Royale did not deserve the appointment, or had not earned it. He was a man who took matters of the law most seriously and was first in line to see those who broke it punished. Nor could there be anyone who said the captain didn’t make full use of his being granted the _Silver Hound_ – for the ship was as sleek and as fast as her name implied, and every time Royale put her speed to the test in his haste to chase down his appointed quarry.

When the Governor had been informed of the theft of one of the most prized historical possessions of his office, he hadn’t hesitated to call for the best man to be put on the job.

Captain Royale had every intention of living up to that good faith. Not out of a desire for glory or reward from the work, but out of noble duty, and his own sense of modest pride.

It was morning, and the captain sat alone in the cabin of his study, looking over papers as he fortified himself for the day with a small plate of biscuits and a single cup of tea.

Normally he was much more careful when drinking hot beverages in his seagoing office, but at present he maintained no grip on the saucer, leaving it carelessly set aside within half an arm’s reach. This was because being a seasoned sailor he knew he’d little to fear from the rougher rocking of the ship, since they were anchored in the narrow bay just off the coast of a small island.

He lifted his quill to jot down some notation on one of his papers, not pausing as there came a polite knock on his door.

“Enter,” Royale bid evenly.

His first mate stepped inside, positioning himself a respectful distance away with hands in front of him and shoulders squared.

“We’ve taken a thorough search of the island as you instructed, sir, and it looks like your intuition was right.”

The captain looked up. He was a younger man for a naval officer, with a medium olive complexion, hair that fell to his shoulder in dark curls, and a strong nose. He dressed very neatly, almost primly, though inside his cabin he’d eschewed his embroidered overcoat for only a white shirt trimmed at the cuffs and collar with lace.

“Oh?” he said, prompting the Mate to go on.

The other man nodded. “There’s definite sign of another ship stopping here. Judging by the number of trees cut, one that was in need of a lot of repairs.”

Captain Royale set aside some of his papers. “Well, one of the last reliable sightings of the _Skull and Bones_ has her taking on a heavy storm,” he mused. “Not to mention we’re also near mermaid waters, and this is the time of year for sea serpent attacks.”

“So it was clearly them, then,” the First mate said almost eagerly. “We must be on the right track.”

Royale gazed at him peaceably. “It certainly seems the most likely option,” he stated. “Yes, I do believe we can safely conclude that the vessel that stopped here must have been the one we are seeking, and we continue to be only a few days behind on their trail.”

“We’re catching up though, sir, if the rumors are to be believed,” the sailor reminded him. “There have been sightings of the _Flogged Ghost_ in the area recently, and the _Ariel_ , and they say that both of those are after this lot too-”

Royale held up a single hand in reproach, halting him.

“If we are to conduct this mission properly, then we would do well to remain reliant on sources that can be deemed trustworthy,” he said, severe. “Not the word of mouth of the likes of flesh-peddlers and common thieves.”

“Of course, sir. No, sir.” The mate hung his head, mollified. “My apologies.”

Royale accepted them with an absent nod. “If the crew is finished searching the island, have them return to the ship and stand by for my word to take in the anchor. And instruct the helmsman that I will have a new heading for him within the hour.”

The First Mate accepted these orders and showed himself out with a few obedient words of self-dismissal.

In the resuming silence, Royale paused a moment, glanced at his papers, and then picked up his teacup for a dainty sip.

*

On the deck of the _Ariel_ , the entire crew had been gathered.

The full assembly of slavers stood about, some of the men bunched shoulder to shoulder, grim and pale-faced and not one of them saying so much as a word.

They were waiting for their leader to start speaking.

Alaria stood by herself in the open space that was cleared near the middle. For the moment she held her tongue, head lowered as she rubbed at the space between the bridge of her nose and one eye, annoyed.

Whether it was by nature of her mermaid blood or her scaled body, or something else entirely, if ever a being could be called truly coldblooded it was her. She took a small amount of smug pleasure in her successes and of grim displeasure in her failings. Rarely was there something that could make her feel fully vexed. That would require too much emotional investment.

But business was business, and she knew the ins and outs of hers thoroughly. She knew what to expect; what she was supposed to be _able_ to expect.

If she hired the right men, vetted them thoroughly, and paid them the proper amount, then things were supposed to run smooth.

But her recent setbacks had been anything but smooth.

Alaria was not the type to continue chasing after a goal simply because it’d evaded her and she wanted to prove something. But if she smelled a vast profit to be made, then she would never let it slip through her fingers.

 _Never_. When it came to making coin, no one could clench a fist tighter than hers.

It was not a matter of principle. She had seen a fortune in the form of that one runaway sorcerer, and she wouldn’t rest until she had it. There was to be no argument. He and all the gold he represented would be _hers_ and no one else’s.

And if necessary she would cut down anyone or anything that got in her way of achieving this…whether they served against her, or as a member of her own crew.

Alaria finally let out the breath she was holding tightly and lifted her head up, dropping her fingers from her eyes. She surveyed the band that stood there watching her silently, waiting.

No one wound up on the _Ariel_ by accident. No pressgangs or bondsmen here. She was far too cautious, too clever for that.

A soul had to prove his worth before he could obtain standing in her operation. He had to demonstrate he was willing to do what it took, that he didn’t care about the law, and most importantly he had to already get his hands dirty before he was allowed the privilege of seeing her.

The ones that were in deep: that stood as much a chance of being clapped in irons if they went to report on her, that was what she needed. The only kind of man she was willing to work with.

Looking around at this crew, she saw former pirates and former slaves, a dirty and ugly bunch to look at who made no attempt at hiding and demonstrated no shame at what they were. They were slavers now, and no doubt they would be until they died – or if they were among the fortunate few that saved up enough to retire.

Either way, not the type to walk away when the going got rough.

She wouldn’t abide it any other way.

Alaria put her hands on her hips and broke the silence not at first by speaking but by the sound of her boots as she took a few purposeful, slow treads forward on the deck.

“I hardly need explain to you all what happened here,” she stated. “Or elaborate the details of how very _upset_ it has made me.” She turned her gaze across all them in a sweep. “You were all humiliated. Right here, on the ship where some of you have served for _years_.”

She pointed at the wood below their feet with one long nail, sharply.

“We’ve fought _battles_ on this deck. Fended off would-be arrests by armies of the law. Taken on entire loads at a time of unwilling cargo. And yet, all that was voided, by the wiles of a single Mermish magic-user.” She ceased pointing and raised the finger instead. “ _One_ Child of Amphitrite, and the ship that came just in the nick of time to save his neck. He got past _all_ of you, and even sent a few of your fellows to a watery grave while he was about it.”

By now the faces of many of the slavers were frowning, angry. Hostile at the reminder of their failures. Some of them were staring downward like scolded children.

Or maybe they were just too afraid, at this particular moment, to risk looking her in the eye.

Alaria continued, “Rest assured, this is not over. We still know which way their ship was headed. And we are going to find them. And you all will be given a second chance to prove your worth. I suggest that you take it, and work to earn it.”

She took a few more steps forward, hands clasped behind her back. Her path took her to standing directly under where five men were suspended upside down from overhead, bound and gagged, a single line looped and knotted across all of their necks. The five crew members that after some investigation Alaria had decided were most at fault for the prisoner’s escape.

Without looking up to acknowledge them, ignoring the faint muffled sounds they made, Alaria finished, “Because if you can’t do your jobs, then I see no point in paying you. And people that I can’t pay, or sell to, or buy, have no worth to me, or use.”

Turning her head she spoke a single word of command in Krawk to the golem that all the while had been waiting nearby.

With heavy steps the creature moved forward. It reached up a large stone arm and grabbed hold of the line that made up the five nooses, and with steady force yanked down.

There was a loud and sickening crack, the sound of bones breaking, and then the muffled voices fell silent.

Alaria waited a moment and then said, “Is that perfectly clear to you all?”

No one said anything in response but that was just fine. She knew that they understood.

*

Nearly another week had passed at sea, one that was full of pleasant routine and uneventful. And Loki in his usual way stood aside and quietly observed the effect it had on his fellows.

He was not surprised to see they shook off the setbacks, the troubles, so easily. For being so long-lived Asgardians were a flighty people, one that preferred living in the moment. He lost count of how many times over the centuries he’d watched other warriors get knocked down only to pick themselves back up again, and carry on like nothing had happened.

So long as there were skirmishes to keep their blood warm, friends to share song and story with, and steady food and drink, they were happy. And all of those things were in good supply. They’d followed Darcy’s orders to be careful and had taken a few more ships to gain the supplies they needed. The hold was stocked, and they had a new stash of spirits, something which Loki knew made the Warriors Three very happy indeed.

Once more there was an air over the group that was jovial and relaxed, almost lazy, as merrily they sailed along.

They kept a decent pace but no one felt any pressure. They stayed on course, read the signs carefully and tried to avoid any bad weather. They stopped for nothing and had decided there was to be no more trading. Save for the pillaging, they were keeping a low profile.

During the days with occasional exceptions people kept to their tasks. The warm air and beautiful expanse of blue sky and blue water was something they’d all long grown used to, every day an opportunity to bask in the sun and breathe in the sea breeze. It was a simple life, an active one, and even Loki found it hard not to revel in how carefree it could make one feel at times.

The evenings were a time to gather together, where they would sit down on deck and pass a flask or keg around, sharing laughter and boasts and pointless conversation. The Warriors Three lead the chorus of drinking songs and did their best to ‘educate’ Siún and Darcy on the lyrics, and Loki had been persuaded a few times into entertaining the group with an ode.

Darcy had been trying to teach the others all how to sing “The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything”, but so far had yielded less than promising results.

The recollection brought an amused smile to Loki’s face as he stood on the deck with his arms crossed, watching as the captain went about her continuing lessons in swordplay.

He had to admit, as far as teachers went, out of all of them Fandral had probably been the best choice. Regardless of whatever jokes one cared to make about his ‘swordsmanship’, it was true that his prowess with his rapier was well-renowned.

Fandral kept his focus solely on the task at hand as he instructed Darcy. He was thorough in catching flaws in her form or footwork, and though he taunted her at times to goad her off the defensive in their practice bouts, or chided her while making other corrections, above all he demonstrated total civility and patience.

Darcy however was not making any jokes in response any more. Not because she had tired of Fandral’s antics as teacher, but because she seemed to view her learning how to fight as solemn and important.

Loki’s smile fell from his face as he continued watching her, how her mouth was set hard and her eyes fixed in single-minded focus, every movement full of determination and tenacity, metal singing as sword met sword again and again with a resounding clatter. Darcy’s chosen weapon was a broadsword with a curved guard, not suited for a wielder with hesitation, and she showed none as she swung at her imagined opponents, an intensity in her gaze that bordered on feverish.

She wasn’t just learning how to fight, it was clear, but preparing herself to do what she must if necessary. She was teaching herself how to kill.

After a certain point Loki could watch no further. There was an unsettled illness in his stomach he couldn’t fully explain – a hollow feeling at the thought of Darcy plunging her sword into another willingly.

He turned his back and started to walk away, intending to take himself and his grim ideas elsewhere.

He didn’t make it far however when he was surprised by a voice calling after him, bidding him to stop.

“Hey, wait up,” Darcy panted. She reached briefly to touch him on the shoulder. Loki turned around and beheld her, sword cast aside and hair disheveled and lank with sweat, evidently done with her practice for the day. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You did?” he asked, curiously. “What about?”

Darcy paused a moment to briefly mop her brow with her sleeve. “Give me a second. I need to catch my breath.” While Loki waited patiently, she squinted up at his face in the sun. She made a thoughtful sound. Then she caught him off-guard by reaching to grab his wrist and pull his sleeve back, examining his skin.

“Aha! I knew it,” Darcy exclaimed. She looked between the underside of his arm and his exposed wrist for comparison. “You _have_ gotten darker. It’s hard to tell, but it’s totally there.” She released his arm, grinning. “You’re still way paler than the rest of us. But at least we know it _is_ possible for you to get a tan.”

“Was this the only thing you were interested in?” Loki asked her wryly but good-naturedly.

“Ah, no.” Darcy shook her head and trailed off into brief silence. “Have things been okay with you?”

Loki blinked. “I wasn’t aware there was something about my behavior to warrant inquiry.”

“Look, there’s no way to say this without sounding like a creeper, but: I’ve been watching you.” Darcy stared at him. “You’re still keeping to yourself way too much.”

Loki’s voice grew tight. “That isn’t really any of your concern.”

“Things changed.” Darcy was insistent. “I saw it. I know I did. After you escaped from Alaria, you and the others looked at each other differently. For a while there I thought things were going to get better.” She waved her hands. “And then for some reason you started pulling yourself away again. What gives?”

Loki wanted only to keep his mouth shut, and tell her to keep to her own affairs. But he saw the look on her face and that it was full of nothing but concern for him, and in spite of his reservations his resolve weakened.

Head dropping, he closed his eyes.

“You were right to feel that things between the others and I are different now,” he admitted. “When I saw firsthand how fretful they all were, the lengths they had been willing to go to on my behalf…I was no longer so unwilling to reconsider our friendship. My feelings of old had after all not completely soured.”

“So?” Darcy prompted.

Loki opened his eyes again and regarded her mournfully. “Desire, and intent, does not completely resolve a purpose. I’m not sure how to even begin trying to repair this.” He hesitated. “And, more than that…”

“What is it?” she asked gingerly when he stopped speaking. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Loki swallowed and tried not to flinch. “I don’t know how to face them.”

Darcy all but rolled her eyes. “You’ve been hanging out with them again on Asgard for months now. And then there’s been all this. I don’t think now’s the time where it makes any sense for you to be getting cold feet.”

“It isn’t _that_ ,” Loki said, a little more harshly than he’d intended. No – he had faced down his brother and again embraced him; he had permitted the All-Father to call him ‘son’ once more. Compared to that what was the awkwardness of dealing with Sif and the Warriors Three? “It has to do with something…much more recent.”

“What are you talking about?” Darcy questioned, sounding uneasy.

Loki moved away at an angle, folding his arms over his chest, unable to face her directly.

“What happened to me, when I was with Alaria. What was done to me.” His voice was hollow as he demanded, “Did you figure out what she was trying to achieve?”

Darcy was quiet, voice stilted and subdued when she responded. “Yeah. She was…trying to _breed_ you.”

There was a tremor of disgust laced beneath her tone but Loki was conscious enough to identify it wasn’t aimed at him.

“And the others,” he said, “I’m sure they realized the same as well?”

Hoarsely, Darcy managed, “Yeah.”

Loki gripped his arms tighter and shut his eyes again, breathing in through his nose as he tilted his head back.

“It was more than that, even. Alaria would have done it herself.” He allowed a pause for that to sink in before continuing, despondently, “I was…overcome. Degraded.  Stripped of my power, all but violated.” He tried to press home the significance to her. “How can I face them and expect them to still be able to show me respect as a warrior? To treat me as a man, knowing what they do?”

“Oh my god, really?” Darcy’s mouth hung open in disbelief, eyes rounding. “This is what the problem is? You’re scared what they’ll think of you because you were almost r-”

She couldn’t get the word out, cutting off with a strangled sound.

Before he could interrupt, though, she managed to start speaking again. “That wasn’t your fault. And they know that.” Darcy shook her head. “And what’s more to the point, they don’t _care_. I haven’t heard them say word one about any of that since you got back.”

“I’ve been pitied by the likes of them before,” Loki said thinly, voice growing dangerous. “I will not let it happen again.”

“If it’s because of friendship, it’s not pity,” Darcy retorted. “It’s _sympathy_. Hasn’t a smart guy like you learned that by now?”

“Don’t make this sound like it can be so easily dismissed,” Loki said to her, exasperated.

“I’m not! I know it can’t.” She stared at him, eyes wide and entreating. “What happened to you was wrong, and I fully expect it to mess you up for a while. But you know what’ll make getting over it a little easier? Having people you can lean on. Knowing you’re not alone.”

She exhaled.

“You have got to stop coming up with new excuses. Either you and the other guys are ready to try and be friends again, or you’re not.”

Loki dropped his arms, letting them hang limply at his sides. His gaze wandered away from Darcy in contemplation, then back again.

“I think it might be possible,” he confessed finally, subdued. “But I just can’t be sure.”

“Well you’re never going to be,” she told him. “Not until you try. I think after everything we’ve been through by this point, you’ve earned it to give yourself that chance. Right?”

She smiled up at him, hopeful, and after a moment Loki was able to give her a faint smile in return.

“I suppose you make a good point.”

“Great!” Darcy smacked him in the arm. “Now was that so hard? Sheesh!”

Loki laughed. “Maybe not to someone who possesses your fortitude,” he replied.

There were no opportunities for Loki to put this new design into action. At least not straight away. Scarcely had he and Darcy finished with one another before Hogun and an excited Fandral had approached their captain, all but demanding a conference.

Sensing the importance Darcy acquiesced and they gathered the entire crew, squeezing them all together in the cabin.

Efficiently Fandral smoothed the map out on the table before them. It was starting to look like magic must be involved in holding the thing together – not only was it who knew how many years old to begin with, but it had been through weeks now of being rolled up and unfolded and occasionally rained on with nary a tear.

The navigator poked a finger at where the treasure on the map was marked.

“We’re nearly there!” he announced ecstatically. “This is where we are right now, do you see? By Hogun’s calculations we should be there in a few days’ times. Five at the most!”

“Can it really be?” Sif mused, almost laughing. “After all this, the journey is truly almost at an end.”

“I expect the conclusion to go as easily as the rest has,” Volstagg commented knowingly.

“By this time tomorrow if we keep to our course, the island the treasure is on should be within our sights,” Hogun told them.

“What makes you so certain it’s an island?” Siún asked.

Fandral shrugged. “Well, what else could it be? There must be land there, or how else could the treasure be stored? And whatever’s in place is sturdy enough it could be expected to have lasted all this time.”

“Here’s hoping,” Sif quipped. “Or this treasure of ours could well be at the bottom of the sea.”

“It’s highly unlikely, under these circumstances,” Loki assured her and the rest of them as well. “The lost wealth of Muspell would hardly be stored in so ordinary a place. And in order for this to be a true adventure we must have some sort of conclusion – I think one way or another, Karnilla would have not permitted us to go this far if we were heading to nowhere.”

“Right,” Volstagg agreed. “We’ve come this far. It can’t be all for nothing.”

“So, that’s it then?” Darcy asked, hopeful. “Run up the sails and make ready for the victory party?”

“I fear it will not be that simple,” Loki replied.

Fandral sighed, and he and Hogun exchanged a glance. “No,” he agreed, tugging at his beard fretfully. “It almost assuredly won’t. First of all, there’s this business of all these people that have been chasing us…”

“We haven’t seen _any_ of them for a while,” Darcy remarked.

“That’s not entirely true,” Fandral said.

“At times we have caught glimpses of a vessel following us,” Hogun stated, gruff. “Never close enough to make out any details. But it’s been enough times I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

The seven of them looked around and exchanged glances warily, nervous. It sounded as if there was a confrontation just over the horizon, then. But with whom?

Somehow, they had apparently gathered a near-comical amount of enemies.

“When we slow our pace to retrieve the treasure, whoever it is will catch up to us,” Sif determined decisively. “If there is to be a battle looming, I think it would be best for all of us if we went into it knowing what we will fight.”

“How are we gonna do that?” Darcy asked them.

The four Asgardians’ eyes slid resolutely over to Loki.

“You can find that out, somehow,” Fandral offered, somewhat tentative, “can’t you?”

Loki nodded his agreement. Pressing fingers to the surface of the map he slid his hand across, careful and slow. “A small divination, perhaps.”

He fell silent, gazing at the map in an unreadable way, and the others weren’t certain what to do.

“Should we leave?” Volstagg asked after a beat, hesitant.

“No. I can do this just fine with all of you still here. It shouldn’t take that much concentration.”

Loki narrowed his eyes and traced the lines of longitude and latitude. His lips moved, barely, murmuring some sort of incantation under his breath.

Finally he lifted his head, facing the others. “I have bad news,” he revealed.

“What is it?” Sif demanded.

Loki withdrew his hand, and then deftly pointed at first one spot on the map, then a second, then at last a third.

“The ship commanded by that pirate Ratchem is here,” he said. “The one sent after us by the governor of Kraken’s Cove is here. And the _Ariel_ , commanded by Alaria, is here.”

“By Nidhogg,” Fandral groaned, seeing the same thing they all did. “They’re each of them only a few days’ behind.”

“When we stop,” Siún said softly, “all three ships will be upon us.”

Darcy squeezed her eyes shut. “We are so boned.”

“Well, what is it that some people say,” Loki offered up, dryly; “No point in doing things halfway?”

*

The revelation of what loomed for their crew in the immediate future had a different effect on all of them.

Hogun and Loki both went back to their work as if nothing happened, being of a like stoic mind that at this point there was nothing they could do about it. Fandral went to make a survey of how much liquor they had in the hold, anticipating a bout of pre-battle revelry. Sif steadfastly began a thorough examination of the ship, every weapon, every peg and board from aft to stern, looking for any sign of weakness that could be mended before the standoff began. Darcy went up to the crow’s nest and sat there, quiet, gazing off with a distant expression on her face.

And Volstagg and Siún found each other, and crept off so they could be alone.

In the dim recesses of the berth they sat on Volstagg’s hammock fully clothed and simply held one another, heads close together, not a murmur or a whisper passing their lips. Some things could only be expressed with silence, and close company.

Siún moved so that her face was cradled against Volstagg’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. With one hand he gently ran fingers through the thin waves of her auburn hair.

“Are you used to such things?” she asked him at length, softly. “Lying in wait, knowing that you’ll be facing certain danger in a few days’ time?”

“Aye,” he told her, quiet but matter of fact. He shifted, bringing her weight closer to him. “The days of Asgard’s great wars were long over in my youth, but there have never been any shortage of battles to fight. And if not battles and border skirmishes, then duels, or quests. Many a late night have I sat up with companions, knowing that on the morrow one of us may die.”

Siún drew a breath in, sharply, and Volstagg tilted his head to offer her an encouraging smile.

“Though it’s worth noting none of us have yet managed to do so.”

“Maybe it wasn’t your time,” Siún responded, not comforted. “But maybe this one is.”

Volstagg saw the drawn look on her face and sat up, placing his hand to her cheek. “Hush now,” he did his best to soothe her, anxious. “There’s no reason to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not frightened for _me_.” Siún’s lips were pulled together tight, the lines of her face grim. “I’m frightened for what might happen to you.” She cupped his face, voice wavering with unshed tears. “After all you’ve come to mean to me – I don’t want to lose you.”

“The prospect gives me no great joy either.” With a grunt Volstagg disentangled himself, getting up from the hammock so that he could shortly pace the floor. “Oh! Sometimes I think life really is too short, after all.”

Turning back to face Siún he took a sweeping glance of her, and then shook his head and bemoaned, “My darling girl! If only I could enjoy these next few days to the fullest, and have you properly.” He reached for her face with a kind of despondence.

In spite of the grave air hanging over their conversation, Siún gave a smile. So far their relationship had not surpassed the level of courtly love – which was something she had no objection to. But she was not opposed to the alternative, either.

She stretched out her legs as she lay on one side, eyes half-lidded as she placed her hand atop his, the heat to her caress meaningful. “I never said that you couldn’t,” she murmured.

Volstagg gave an odd chuckle as he pulled his hands away. Shaking his head again he went to one knee so he could better face her.

“Oh, but tempting as it is, I could never. You mean more to me than the kind of woman I would do that with.” He put his fingers just beneath her chin like she was a statue he was trying to frame. “The Lion of Asgard has had sweethearts aplenty, but I intend to court _you_ proper.”

“But for what reason do we have to wait?” Siún complained, not understanding. “If everything could be over in the next few days, why not spend them enjoying ourselves?” Her gaze was heated. “I _want_ you to make love to me.”

“But what if I _don’t_ die in the battle?” Volstagg remarked, still clinging to his resolve. “A fine man I would be, taking you to bed before I had asked you to be my wife!”

Siún went rigidly still, and then she swung herself up to a sitting position, gripping the edge of the hammock in both her hands.

“You want me to marry you?” she demanded, looking down to meet Volstagg straight in the eyes.

He spread his arms, beaming. “But of course!  I can think of nothing else in the world that would make me a happier man.” He clasped hands to his heart. “That is, of course, if you’d do me the honor.”

A great big smile spread over Siún’s face as she reached forward, hands going to his shoulders and arms hugging around his neck.

“Then I think I know the solution to your quandary, beloved. Let’s get married right now.”

Volstagg gave a bemused chortle. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Siún was still smiling to where it was almost silly. “We’re on a ship,” she informed him, eager. “That means the captain can marry us.”

Volstagg froze. “…She can?”

Siún nodded. “So says the law of the sea.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. As it passed, Volstagg leapt to his feet, wrapping Siún tightly around her waist so he could swing her around with an overjoyed crow. Siún clung to him and pressed her face in his thick mane of hair, laughing.

Volstagg set her down, careful but swift, on her feet. “Then what are we waiting for, my dear?” he said, hurried. “Let’s find her!”

Siún barely had time for a breathless nod before the two of them were running off to the deck as fast as their legs could carry them, holding hands squeezed tight.

Darcy was a bit agog when they dragged her down from the crow’s nest.

“You want me to _what?_ ”

“Marry us,” Siún repeated. She and Volstagg exchanged a besotted glance. “With what may happen, we don’t want to take any chances.”

“You’re sure? I mean, you guys have only known each other for…” Darcy trailed off as she realized they weren’t really listening, too busy gazing into each other’s eyes. “Okay. But what makes you think that I’m qualified?”

“You’re the captain,” Volstagg told her, bright. “This is your ship. That grants you the authority.”

“That’s actually a thing?” Darcy blinked. “For real?” She looked between the happy couple who, she had to admit, looked about as in love as she’d ever seen two people. “Why not?” she surrendered, grinning. “If nothing else, it’ll give us a reason to celebrate, right?”

Siún and Volstagg embraced each other, joyful, and Darcy was left to wonder if she knew enough to even be able to properly recite a wedding service.

The Asgardians reacted to the news of their friend’s imminent nuptials with a great mixture of feeling, everything from astonishment and disbelief to happiness and approval. No one, at least, tried to talk him out of it.

Not directly, anyway.

“I have to say, my friend, it can’t help coming across as if you’re rushing into this,” Fandral remarked to Volstagg later on when he got him alone. “Most I know would consider a proper waiting time to be at least half a century.”

“Ah, but we’re not on Asgard right now – and you know how heated things get when you’re in the midst of a journey,” Volstagg replied. At the dour look on Fandral’s face he tried to encourage him. “Oh, I know it’s all a bit strange, but it feels right to us.” He tilted his head with a pause and then considered, “I must admit, I thought you might try to be a little bit happy for me.”

“I am. I mean, I am _trying_.” Fandral wrinkled his nose. “It’s just…marriage!”

“What? It’s that unexpected?” Volstagg asked. “ _You_ were married once.”

Fandral made a sound like he was scandalized the other warrior would even bring it up. “That hardly even counted! Marian was only mortal, and it was only because I knew it would please her – a small sacrifice to make for a very short amount of time.” He huffed. “You know they lived even shorter lives in those days, and it was a part of the role I was playing.”

“All right. So you still consider yourself a bachelor.” Volstagg rolled his eyes. “Did you think the rest of us would stay single men forever? It’s supposed to be part of a noble man’s duty, after all; finding a wife, starting a family…”

“Yes, so it could be assumed this would one day probably come. I just didn’t realize it would come so soon!”

Fandral sat down on the edge of the ship’s rail heavily, his face falling.

“I’m so used to thinking of all of us together, a group of young warriors: a brotherhood, a fraternity!” He hesitated. “All right, so there _is_ Sif, but you know what I mean.” He sighed. “First Thor met Jane, and now you.”

“My dearest Fandral, it’s not as if you’re going to lose us,” Volstagg said mildly.

“No, but things won’t be the same.” Fandral gave an amused huff. “You know, I figured Thor would be the first. But he’s not even officially betrothed and here you are rushing to the altar!” He turned his head and squinted at his friend. “Be honest with me. She’s not with child?”

“Not in the least,” Volstagg informed him, frank. “Or I should hope not, because if she is I know it isn’t mine.”

Fandral stared, slowly pushing back to his feet.

“You mean the two of you haven’t…?” He searched the other man’s face and seemed to find his answer there. “Volstagg! You astound me!”

Volstagg huffed, offended. “What’s so astounding about that? I care for the lady. My behavior with her has been that of a gentleman!”

Fandral’s eyes remained wide. “I just hadn’t realized,” he admitted, amazed. “I knew that you liked her, but it never occurred to me you were _courting_ her! I only thought…” He trailed off. “But this is no passing fancy.”

“Oh no.” Volstagg gave an ardent sigh, putting one hand over his heart. “This, my friend, is love.”

Fandral watched the expression on his face and after a moment’s consideration, gave a breathy laugh.

“So it is, I would think.” He patted the bigger man’s back. “And if that is truly the case my friend, then yes, I am happy for you. I will just have to get used to there being one less free man among us!”

Volstagg exchanged a grin with him. “I’m sure you’ll wrap your head around it, in time.”

The ship was in the center of a ruckus of activity as the crew scrambled to do what they could to give their friends the best wedding that under the setting they could muster. Loki was busy turning strands of kelp into flowers for garlands. Wine was being rolled onto the deck by the barrel. Siún was chased out of the kitchen by stubborn believers that the bride shouldn’t have to prepare her own wedding feast – though under such circumstances, the prospect for delicious food looked slim.

And then they were interrupted by a ship sailing in their general direction: not any of the enemies that had been pursuing them, but what looked to be a merchant’s vessel, humbly named the _Fishwife._

“We should wait until they’re gone,” Sif remarked. “We don’t want to do anything to call attention to ourselves.”

“What are you talking about?” Darcy exclaimed, eyes lighting as she was hit by a crazy idea. “This is perfect! Hogun, take the wheel and get us over there.”

The others were perturbed and uncertain, but they followed her orders.

The _Fishwife_ was a decent-sized vessel, but the merchant who owned it was not well-off. There was no separate company of men to guard it other than crew and captain, and along with the shipping of goods the merchant himself used the ship for travel. He was onboard with his wife, two daughters and young son.

The passengers and crew trembled as the pirate ship they had heard of in recent warnings sailed right toward them. The merchant’s family clung to each other. The captain gripped his sword, grimly, but he looked at his men and knew they would have to surrender without a fight. He only prayed their lives would be spared if they gave the outlaws what they wanted.

They were a bit puzzled when after the ship moored itself the captain was the only one to cross over, accompanied by a sole tall figure in green that served as her guard.

The lady pirate found a box to stand on and spread her arms wide as she addressed the _Fishwife_ ’s assembly.

“Hi,” she said to them brightly. “I’m Captain Darcy Lewis. And you are all cordially invited to help us throw a wedding.”

Once their bemusement had faded and the pirate captain had explained the situation and convinced them of her sincerity, the crew reacted to the news with delight. They had been at sea for long months and were glad to have this sudden chance to celebrate. Quickly the ramps were set up as they lashed the ships together so it would easier to run back and forth between the two. Supplies were brought up from both holds and pooled. After a survey of the space they had it was decided the ceremony would be held on the _Skull and Bones_ and the reception would be on the _Fishwife._

The merchant’s family was not so easily pleased at the idea of socializing freely with pirates, but they went along anyway for fear of their lives. After seeing firsthand the goodwill and friendliness the crew of the _Skull and Bones_ displayed however they began to warm to the circumstances. The children were especially pleased, the daughters because it’d been ages since they’d had an excuse to dress up and go dancing, the son because no one he knew had ever been to a party with real live cutthroats before.

A larger party made for a much more festive occasion, and now there were even more hands to help with the preparations. Sailors climbed the rigging to festoon the masts with garlands. The merchant’s daughters took the bride into their cabin to help her dress. Musical instruments and extra chairs were collected. The poor bedraggled chickens from the _Skull and Bones’_ hold were made into a fine gumbo. The merchant’s wife herself applied to the task of baking a wedding cake with gusto.

A few hours before sunset all was finally ready, and the group gathered together quietly to witness the ceremony.

The bride looked radiant in a pale blue dress and a veil that had once been a lace tablecloth, cheeks rosy and flowers in her hair. The groom wore his armor which had been polished to gleaming, his beard finely combed, and he couldn’t stop grinning the entire time.

With great authority Darcy read off the vows she had managed to string together from every wedding scene she had ever watched on television, surreptitiously written down on a piece of paper.

They both said ‘I do’, and she pronounced them man and wife.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Darcy finished.

Volstagg did. The sailors applauded. Hogun and Fandral pumped their fists in the air and cheered. The merchant’s wife cried into her handkerchief.

Sif caught the bouquet entirely by accident, and when Loki laughed at her, she threw it at him.

Then they all went over to the other ship for what Darcy called ‘the fun part’.

The festivities of the reception lasted long into the evening. They had many barrels of rum and ale to go through. The merchant’s daughters were eager to dance the jig with as many different sailors as they could. The merchant’s son tried to convince Darcy to let him join her crew.

Loki sat among the other Asgardians as they took turns fondly recalling stories of the groom’s past exploits, and showed no sign he was having second thoughts about being there.

The bride and groom, however, were not in attendance for most of the party. After the beginning of the feast and the first round of cake, they had slipped away with a discreet sendoff back to the cabin on the _Skull and Bones_ , which had been granted to them for the night for their private ‘honeymoon’.

Many of the merchantman’s crew had passed out on the deck, the rest following their captain as he led them in a drunken chorus of song, when the pirates made their goodbyes to their new friends.

“Not a bad lot,” Fandral observed cheerfully, as they pulled up anchor, the off-tune declarations from the _Fishwife_ of how they had never been to Boston in the fall fading off into the distance. “No, not at all. How many proposals did you have to turn down, Sif?”

“Five,” she answered him gloomily.

“Only _five?_ ” Loki jibed her. “Why Sif, you must be slipping!”

“Shh, guys,” Darcy interrupted, as Fandral and Hogun laughed and Sif elbowed Loki in the ribs. She pressed a finger to her lips. “Keep it quiet.” Meaningfully she tilted her head in the direction of the cabin. “They’re probably sleeping.”

“Aye,” Loki commented in a sage tone: “I’m certain they must both be exhausted.”

The Asgardians sniggered, then bid each other good night as they broke up and slipped off in different directions. The plan was to keep sailing at least part of the night to make up time that’d been cost by the wedding.

Darcy moved closer to Loki’s side and looped her arm around his companionably.

“This was nice,” she remarked, as she stifled a yawn. “I’m glad that this happened. One last good time before whatever’s coming next.”

“There will be opportunities aplenty for good times in the future.” Loki patted her back. “Unless you’ve convinced yourself that we’re _all_ going to die in battle.”

Instead of laughing at what was meant as a teasing remark, Darcy’s only response was a subdued, “Hm.” Her expression and tone were hard to read.

The grin left Loki’s face as for a moment he looked at her and she continued to say nothing.

Things were getting serious now, if they ever hadn’t been to begin with. They both knew that. And they could joke about it or comment on their luck all they liked. It wouldn’t change the weight of the circumstances.

Evenly, Loki said to her, “If nothing else, Darcy, _you_ are not going to die. You’ll make it back to Earth safe and sound, I promise. Jane would never forgive us otherwise.”

Darcy leaned her head against his arm.


	6. The Royal Fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sail away where no ball and chain  
>  Can keep us from the roarin' waves  
> Together undivided but forever we'll be free_
> 
> _So sail away aboard our rig  
>  The moon is full and so are we  
> We're seven drunken pirates  
> We're the seven deadly sins_
> 
> \- Flogging Molly, "Seven Deadly Sins"

In the middle of the night, all was quiet on the _Fishwife_.

For miles around came only the soft sound of the waves and the faint whistling of the wind, and on the deck of the ship herself not a voice stirred.

After the friendly pirate crew had left them the revelry had continued on for a bit. Eventually it died down as one by one, sailors had given in to fatigue and trudged off to their berths, or simply passed out and lay down where they stood.

More than a fair share had comprised the latter, and navigating the deck would’ve proved quite the puzzle in the dark, amidst all the sprawled and snoring bodies.

But there was no one left awake to make that attempt. The crew while not lazy was a bit easygoing to begin with, and in the presence of so much music and spirits all discipline had broken down.

There was no one assigned that night to watch duty. It’d not even occurred to the captain to think of that before he too had succumbed to stupor. From the deck and the deserted crow’s nest not a single lantern was lit.

The _Fishwife_ bobbed along slowly in the night, adrift and unmanned and totally defenseless.

The merchant’s family slept comfortably in their cabins, blissful and unaware, save the youngest member – the son. This tow-haired boy had snuck back out of his room after he knew his parents had left, and stayed secretly watching the men raucously celebrate with rapt fascination, until his eyelids had grown too heavy for him to fight off sleep any more.

Now he lay curled up among a pile of burlap sacks, dreaming deep of the wonders of maritime life and all he’d seen and imagined. No closer to waking or awareness of things around him than any of the sailors.

And perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference. Perhaps, in the bleary dark, no one would have spied the approach of the _Flogged Ghost_ until she was already upon them, creeping through the dusk in a manner like the phantoms for which she was named.

Perhaps there would have been no time to shout the alarm, to rouse the men and captain and have them armed and ready for battle. Perhaps they would have been no match for Ratchem’s crew, brutes that had been employed for years in professional thievery and murder.

Perhaps they wouldn’t have put up much of a fight, though at least there would’ve been one at all, versus what happened when the pirates walked among the senseless crew and one by one slit their sleeping throats.

But either way, none of them ever saw it coming.

*

Volstagg the Valiant was a heavy sleeper, and a man who naturally enjoyed his rest. He enjoyed it especially well the night after a banquet, a fight, or any sort of celebration.

So it could be no surprise to any who knew him by either manner or reputation that the day after his wedding he slept well on past morning.

The ‘Lion of Asgard’ woke awash in the pale golden light of early afternoon, tangled between his red mane and layers of sheets, blinked and stretched his paws as he gave out a mighty yawn.

That done, Volstagg leaned back on his arms with an absent sound, feeling drowsy and sated, content smile on his face. He didn’t yet recall where he was or what he was doing and he didn’t care.

He wriggled a bit, trying to get more comfortable in bed, usually preferring his mattress both bigger and softer than the one he was in at present.

He became aware of another presence in the room, faint motion from out of the corner of his eye, and he lifted his head to check.

A short distance away Siún stood with her back half to him, body at an angle as she bent towards the floor, delicately wringing a white cloth in a thin basin full of water. Illumination from behind the curtains of the nearby window cast her naked body in a mixture of dancing light and shadow, her skin especially silvery and gleaming at the start of the day. The long fine tresses of her hair hung down almost to her waist, as she knelt and slowly, began to wash to herself.

The fuller memory of where he was and what had happened the night previous began to awaken in Volstagg’s mind.

But where some might’ve had cause for remorse or second thoughts, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact what he felt at the revelation was a blooming of delighted joy in his heart, spreading quickly to fill him inside.

He was _married_ to this beautiful creature; this woman that he loved and that loved him in return. They were united now and forever.

Volstagg watched her a little while, peaceful, before he saw fit to greet her with a gentle, “Good morning, wife.”

Siún went perfectly still, neither startled nor flinching, and after a moment turned her head to regard him. She smiled warmly.

“Good morning, husband,” she returned, with a tender satisfaction.

Volstagg was chuckling breathily to himself as he sat up, and simultaneously Siún moved closer; returning to the bed as she crept up to sit on top of him, the blanket the only thing between the press of their bodies. He entwined fingers in her hair as she kissed him.

Both her palms went to lay flat on his chest, embracing, and he leaned down again on his back as seamlessly she moved with him.

This was what they would have every day from there on out, every morning for the rest of their lives. And it certainly was something.

One forearm going to encircle her waist, snug, Volstagg decided, “This is a _fine_ way to wake up in the morning.” His eyes met Siún’s. “I think we’re off to a good start with this marriage business, don’t you?”

Siún grinned back at him, her eyelashes lowered, as the two of them lay there cozy and awash with togetherness and in absolutely no hurry at all to do anything else.

She kissed him just beside his nose and told him, “I couldn’t possibly agree more.”

*

On the deck of the _Skull and Bones_ all was the easy and comfortable silence brought about after a prior evening full of celebration.

Everyone was still full and happy from the festivities, the mess had been cleaned up and they’d had a night of sleep, and at the moment there was nothing anyone felt the need to say.

No one commented on the missing state of Volstagg and his new bride. Considering the circumstances it was very…expected.

And there wasn’t much need to comment on the fact Darcy was missing, either. It was an unfortunate truth they were well aware of by now that she didn’t recover from a night of dancing and heavy drinking so easily as an Asgardian.

She probably would be less than pleased to hear that by their standards, the wedding reception was very tame.

“I will wager you even odds,” Sif was saying, “that there will be a second wedding of some kind, or at least a second celebration, when we get back home.” She turned her head, smug. “Otherwise Volstagg will have to sit with the knowledge his marriage was not celebrated in true grand style.”

Loki replied easily, “I wouldn’t think of taking that wager.” Expression tranquil he gave an amused scoff. “Volstagg would never relinquish a chance to have a feast.”

Sif made an absent, wry sound of agreement. Then she gave an odd laugh.

“And I just realized. Thor will _not_ be happy when hearing he missed out on such a milestone, will he?”

“No more so than he would be for everything else we have done.” Loki smirked in a way that wasn’t entirely unsympathetic. “Poor brother.”

The two of them were sitting on a large barrel, having taken a self-appointed break from the tedious business of sailing. Fandral was out of sight, gone for his turn at the helm. Hogun stood nearby on deck, back to Sif and Loki as he gazed at their path ahead on the water, silent and focused.

Sif shifted her weight slightly, leaning back on her elbows. She and Loki sat side by side, not directly touching but very close. Comfortable. When one of them moved they’d inevitably brush against the other and neither of them seemed to think anything of it.

It was certainly nice, she had to admit to herself, to be able to do this again. The four of them sitting together, talking together, laughing together; carrying on like they did in the old days. It was an experience she had missed.

The wedding seemed to have cemented the already reforming bond in their friendship. Loki didn’t pull himself away, and the rest of them no longer felt that hesitance before including him.

And it couldn’t be missed they were all happier for it. The grudge had been a yoke around their necks, weighing them down, putting uncertainty behind words and delaying actions.

With friendship and unity came a kind of freedom, an ease to everything they hadn’t felt in a long while.

It would be almost possible to pretend that nothing had ever happened. She wouldn’t be entirely surprised if that’s what the Warriors Three did from here on to make things simpler and easier. She already believed it was the way Thor acted, at least in part.

That was their own affair, their own choices to be made. Just as Sif had hers – and she would _not_ forget.

She was willing to trust Loki. She was willing to give him the chance to prove himself once more, the way in her eyes he had already begun to. But she would never forget the past.

She would try not to hold it against him, were it unnecessary, but it wouldn’t be forgotten. It wasn’t in her nature.

“You’re very quiet this morning,” Loki remarked. He gave her a half-curious look from the corner of his eye.

“Is that so unusual?” Sif retorted, effortless. She met his gaze head-on, smiling. “It certainly isn’t for you.”

Loki blinked, and then he laughed, raising hands palm-up in an expression of surrender.

“So it seems I am not to cast stones in the directions that would not suit my own behavior. Is that it? Forgive me.”

Sif’s only response was to roll her eyes, taking his response for the mocking jest that it was.

At that point Darcy decided to finally put in an appearance, as she stumbled up onto the deck with hair still in disarray, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Well good morning to you, Captain,” Loki called brightly, mild amusement palpable at her plight. “Have you rested enough and recovered?”

“Mostly. Ugh.” Darcy slid her glasses on but kept her eyes shut as she kneaded her temple. “Man, screw you guys. Stupid Vikings with your stupid immunity to rough mornings-after.”

Sif and Loki exchanged a glance, the latter grinning with silent laughter. “Not so,” the lady warrior informed their friend. “We have the lot of us been down in our cups many a time. But it would take a much greater showing than this.”

Darcy’s only response was a dismissive grumble of, “Whatever.”

Loki was still repressing a smirk, but he climbed off the barrel and headed over to her. He raised one hand in offering. “May I?”

Darcy muttered a bit more, darkly, under her breath as she allowed him to lay hands on her and use magic to soothe away her ills.

She looked more awake, and her mood much improved, after. She smiled. “Okay. Starting over,” she began. “How’s everything going out here?”

Sif began, “All seems well so far-”

But Hogun interrupted her. “I wouldn’t say that. In fact, there may be a problem.”

The three of them turned to look at where the First Mate stood at the rail, hands now gripping the edge as he leaned slightly forward. His dark eyes never wavered as he watched the ocean on the horizon and his mouth was set in a concerned frown.

“What is it?” Loki asked, moving a few steps closer as he followed the other man’s gaze. Sif and Darcy drifted in as well.

Hogun gestured at the emptiness in front of them. “No sign of the island,” he pointed out. “We should have seen it by now.”

“Maybe we haven’t travelled as far as we thought,” Sif offered. She folded her arms. “Are you so certain?”

The answer was without hesitation. “Yes. And there is something else as well.” Hogun’s gaze went up, head tilting as he looked to the sails. “The winds have died down. All of them. It is unnatural.”

“Magic,” Loki stated. There was a sour note to his words. “Is it so surprising, really? Of course a treasure so vast and of such property would be guarded by one last test.”

The four of them were quiet at first, and it was in that contemplative silence that Fandral showed up. Whatever jovial greeting he’d had prepared went unsaid as he took in his companion’s faces.

“Oh no!” He moved swiftly on the steps down to their level, frowning. “What’s happened now that has everyone looking so glum?”

“We’re not getting any closer to the island,” Darcy caught him up. “We think it’s some kind of magic booby-trap.”

“Yes, all right; I suppose that makes a sort of sense. But surely there must be some way…?”

Fandral trailed off, for as he was speaking without a word Loki had taken the spyglass from where it hung at his belt. Extending it he looked out at the flat expanse before them of water.

“You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“Why – would it have changed your response if I did?” Loki peered intently in the same direction, searching. After a moment he said carefully, “Hogun. If you could indicate to me the area where it is by your reckoning the island _should_ be?”

Hogun studied the position of the sun and perhaps a few other markers inscrutable to the others. Then he moved next to Loki so the other could use the spyglass to follow his arm in a straight line when he pointed.

“There.”

Loki nodded. “Ah. As I thought.” He lowered the spyglass, handing it back to Fandral without even looking. “There is a glamor around the island, some sort of magical shield. Mildly imperfect, as is often the case with such larger illusions. I can only just make out where the edges of it are hazy in comparison to its surroundings.”

“Will it keep us from reaching the island?” Fandral asked, worried, as he fussed about putting his glass back to rights.

“That probably will not. It’s designed only to keep outsiders from noticing it.” Loki looked up at the nearly lifeless sails. “But I’m concerned about whatever enchantment it is that’s keeping the winds from reaching us. We’ll never reach there if we’re only drifting.”

“We could row instead,” Sif suggested. “Get out the dories and leave the larger vessel to travel in smaller ones instead.”

“Yes; and be left stranded on shore with too much treasure to carry, and no cannons when our enemies attack,” Fandral countered. “I think not.”

“That is something we need to be thinking about,” Hogun reminded them, as close to reluctant as he ever got when it came to dispensing bad news. “Even once we reach the island our troubles aren’t over. With enemies following us, we’ll still need to fight our way back out.”

“Actually I’ve already been working on a plan for that,” Loki said, incredibly offhand.

Darcy threw up her hands. “Of _course_ you have. Well, care to let the rest of us in on it?”

“One thing at a time,” was Loki’s suitably cryptic reply. His attention was focused on one of the lines for the sails, giving the rope an absent tug.

Before the others could begin interrogating him the group’s attention was caught by a small commotion from off down the deck, a door being opened and shut ungainly and the heavy sounds of two pairs of feet.

Siún and Volstagg had finally emerged from their makeshift bridal suite, fully clothed and presentable but unable to stop the matching happy smiles on their faces.

There was a chorus of noises from their friends, who had been waiting all morning to see them, whistles and clapping and cheers of both the teasing nature and encouragement.

“Here you are!” Fandral exclaimed, going towards them with his hands raised and a broad grin. “At last! I was starting to think that we would never see you in your new status as a family man!”

“Ha,” Volstagg chuckled, abashedly, though still smiling all the while. “Well, here I am. Here _we_ are,” he amended, looking at Siún as he squeezed her hand.

Hogun laid one hand on his friend’s shoulder, briefly. “Congratulations,” he offered with a faint, genuine smile.

Sif merely settled for exchanging a smile and nod with Volstagg. Darcy moved forward, beaming, planning to say something to Siún, but she was cut off in her surprise as Loki stole his way in swiftly. He positioned himself before the new wife with the warm and respectful look of a supplicant, elegantly taking both her hands in his own.

“Gracious lady; as one who has come to know the nature of your spirit and your heart over the course of this journey we have shared, my felicitations and fondest of wishes to you on this, one of your happiest of days.”

He bowed his head and Darcy couldn’t help giving out a low whistle, because – wow, _words_.

Siún was smiling gently, almost overwhelmed, lips already moving to give reply. But before she could get out ‘thank you’ Loki lifted his head again, expression changed slightly as to purpose but no less intent.

“I hate to ask of you a favor so soon. Especially as I know it is not one you will find initially pleasant to deliver. But if you are willing, right now we could have great need of your help.”

“Help with what?” Siún’s pleased expression had fallen and now she looked confused and a little wary.

“What’s this?” Volstagg rested one hand on her shoulder protectively, staring at his friend. “Loki, what are you talking about?”

Gracefully Loki let his hands drop, releasing Siún from his grasp. “The treasure of old is guarded by some spell that steals away all of the natural winds. The best way I can think to counter it is to summon some of our own.”

Siún shifted backward, apprehensive. “I don’t…” Her head shook. “I _can’t_. I already told you.”

“You _can_ ,” Loki countered, firm but not cruel. “It is your birthright, Lady Siún. It is in your blood. And I think if only you’d allow me to give you a little aide, you could call all the wind we needed to us with a song.”

“She doesn’t have to do anything if she doesn’t want to,” Volstagg insisted, as Siún clasped her hands meekly and stared at her feet.

“But,” Darcy broke in, uncertain, “what if it’s the only way?”

Sif offered, “At least give her some time to think about it.” Trying to defuse the situation she did her best to draw everyone’s attentions onto her. “For now let us focus on other matters. Loki: you said you had a plan for how best to deal with the enemies we have collected? I am interested to hear it.”

“I think it’s safe to say we all are,” Fandral chimed in.

“All right,” Loki agreed, smooth. He turned his back on Siún and Volstagg and the group closed in on him in a circle, drawing near with interest. “It’s not without risk, of course. But it will be worth it if everything works. Now, listen.”

*

The problem, Loki had surmised, really came down to the matter of numbers. Fighting against three different enemies, they were without a doubt hopelessly outgunned.

Their fortunes would change considerably however if they could ally themselves with one of their foes, turning the battle into two against two.

And of the three that challenged them, there was no question which they should turn to. The pirates and the slavers were out of the question – assuming such a thing would’ve even been possible. Loki frankly doubted it. That left, then, a parley with the men of the law.

His fellows argued against the wisdom of such a plan, but Loki was able to convince them they should at least attempt it.

Now if only the good men of the _Silver Hound_ could be so efficiently swayed.

Making the initial meeting in and of itself would be no small task. Loki was able again to locate the other vessel through scrying – that was the easy part.

Teleportation could be a difficult trick when one only had a vague sense of where one was going. And it would take more energy and concentration since he was bringing others along.

He hadn’t particularly wanted the participation of the entire crew in this venture, but when the conversation of who should be permitted to go turned into a debate that grew too long for his liking, he relented.

They waited until just after nightfall, and when the ship was anchored safely, the group of seven huddled close around and Loki enveloped them all like a cloak in his magic.

When the dancing, warping shimmers of time and space cleared from his vision Loki was immediately pleased to see his aim had been even better than he anticipated. A glance around showed the interior of a fine room, undoubtedly the captain’s cabin.

When they had come in a man had been seated near the corner of the room behind a writing desk. He wore a white shirt over simple leggings and his hair was down. Obviously he’d been attending to some papers before retiring to bed.

The man showed no chagrin at having been caught in a state of half-undress. He started, showing some semblance of a warrior’s reflexes, and then seized a nearby pistol from under his desk as he leapt to his feet.

He cocked it, pointing the weapon straight in their direction as he took them all in with a sweeping glance.

“Who are you?” the captain demanded.

Loki stole a glance at his fellows to ensure that, for the moment, they were content to let him do the speaking. Then pressing a hand to just below the hollow of his throat he gave a brief incline of his head.

“We,” he stated, “are the crew of the vessel known to you as the _Skull and Bones_ , down to the last hand.” He fixed his eyes on the one he addressed. “And am I not mistaken in that you’re the one named Captain Mikhail Royale?”

“I am,” the man answered without hesitation.

Despite being alone and armed only with one small weapon he stood his ground. He took in the half circle that stood opposite to him with careful scrutiny. His body posture was like that of a fencer, the lines of his back and arm perfectly straight and unflinching.

“I do not appear to be having a dream,” Captain Royale concluded after a few seconds of consideration.

“You are not,” Loki assured him.

“How is it, then, that you all come to be on my ship?” he questioned, still in the same soft calm tone of voice. “I think I should summon some of my men to aid me.”

“Please don’t,” Darcy put in. “I know it might be hard to believe, but we aren’t here looking for a fight.”

“You may call for others, if that would make you more comfortable,” Loki offered, voice flat. “But if you turn this into a brawl you’ll miss hearing out on what you may find an enticing offer.”

Royale’s eyes narrowed. “I hold not much interest in ‘enticement’ at the hands of pirates. But, go on. I will hear of this _offer_.”

Though his posture was unmoving his eyes darted, doing his best to keep all of them in his line of vision. Loki could sense his hesitation as he looked between Darcy, then the larger warriors like Fandral and Volstagg; he was trying to decide where best it would be to keep his pistol aimed. No doubt he knew of Darcy’s role as their alleged leader, but some of the others presented the more obvious visual threat.

Ever one to see the value in knowing their enemies, Loki had listened carefully to what was said of Captain Royale, both among sailors they encountered and tales to be gathered at every port of call. He’d been given a portrait of a man who was capable and commanding, who placed highest value on honor and morality but who was not without intelligence. So far, the reality had yet to disappoint.

“As you may no doubt know, our ship lies not far from here, on the verge of reaching our final destination,” Loki told him. “But so too close by are our enemies, two crews of two different vessels that pursue us, besides yours.”

Royale’s chin lifted, permitting himself to display a note of surprise. “So the map is real after all. And the legendary treasure does exist.”

“It does,” Loki promised. “And if you are willing to cooperate, we will divide the treasure with you. Indeed-” he glanced again at the others, having already discussed this with them “-we will even let you have the lion’s share.”

If they brought back a single piece of gold to Asgard that belonged to the lost history of Muspell, the acclaim would be worth it all for reward. There was no need to encumber themselves with the vastness of the treasury. Especially if giving up some of it guaranteed a smoother passage.

Royale made a dismissive sound. “You mistake me if you think I am one to be bought by gold or silver. This treasure means nothing to me.”

“To you, maybe. But what about your bosses?” Darcy remarked in a knowing tone. “I’ll bet the governor, and any other politician in the chain of command you work for, would have a very different opinion.”

There was no doubt truth to these words, truth Royale was aware of, but he was not a man who appreciated having those he served implied to as greedy. His eyes narrowed further.

Quickly Loki spoke to add, “If not for monetary value, for historical significance then, and the sense of national pride. Surely it would be something for Kraken’s Cove to brag over, that you’ve obtained some physical piece of the glory of your long-lost Founders of legend.”

Royale’s expression relaxed, showing silent concession to this point. “And what is my part to play, that you’d relent to me part of your long-sought reward? I allow your escape?”

“We are not your enemies.” This time it was Sif who insisted on putting her own in. “I know we have transgressed against many of your laws here, but our intention was never to cause harm.”

Something flashed in the captain’s eyes, righteous and angry. It was gone before Loki could attempt to read it further. “I have seen things that would disagree as to that,” he told them in reply, darkly.

Loki was silent as he considered what notion to appeal to in order to convince this mortal. Practicality, security, pride; there were many options. The trick was finding the best one. Persuasion was a complicated gamble and pushing the wrong tactic too hard could undermine everything.

But as he thought he neglected to realize his friends would not be so patient, or good about remaining silent.

“Yours is not the only blade that threatens our necks, good man,” Fandral put in, curtly. “We’re being chased by a pack of dirty slavers led by an insult to female shape known as Alaria.”

“There’s another group of pirates, too,” Darcy added. “Don’t forget about them.”

Royale frowned a different frown. “I know of them by reputation, Alaria and Ratchem both. They are criminals without scruple, tyrants whose long history of offenses stretches across the waters through years.”

“It would be in the best interests of your purpose to rid the seas of both of them,” Loki rapidly suggested. “Think of how many things would be put to an end, how much safer this world would be, without the lingering presence of their threat. And we are willing to help you put a stop to them.”

“So that’s your offer then?” Royale surmised: “A chance to rid the world of the greater of two evils?”

But he had to see the merit in it, for instead of dismissing outright he fell into silence as he gave it some obvious thought. Loki breathed in softly, giving the others a warning look not to interrupt his contemplations.

Facing the captain it was easy to see Royale hadn’t risen through the ranks merely for his efficiency and obedience. He was a sharp-eyed and sharp-minded man – attributes Loki could find worthy of respect. From the way he carried himself it could be read he was self-assured but not arrogant. He took some amount of care in his appearance but though he was a good-looking man there was no mark in him of vanity.

All in all a worthy ally, Loki believed with satisfaction. That was assuming of course they could have him; that he was willing to “stoop” so low.

Finally Royale said, “It offends my honor to agree to such terms. But it can take such a blow – and I have many other things to consider. My men could never take on the _Ariel_ and the _Flogged Ghost_ at once and hope to defeat them. But you think together we stand a chance?”

“More than a chance,” Volstagg said. “Though we may appear small in number, there is more to us than meets the eye.”

“I cannot help but wonder at a crew of only seven pirates who has overcome so many,” Royale agreed, cagily. “But how am I to know I can trust you?”

“Herein lays the part of the tale you may find hardest to believe, Mikhail Royale,” Loki began. “We are not of this land, this world that is all you know of, but from a place far beyond. And we are not pirates by trade but noble warriors of that world, known as Asgard.” He spread his hands. “That treasure is the only prize we seek, and once we have it we will return home. You will be troubled by us no longer.”

He waited for the man to object it couldn’t possibly be true. Instead the captain favored him with another long, examining look.

“You’re the sorcerer, aren’t you?” Royale said at length. “The ships you’ve robbed speak of one among your crew who is greatly gifted in such things.”

Loki wasn’t sure whether or not this was a good sign. After all, if he was thought to be a freed slave, then in this man’s eyes that just made him yet another kind of outlaw. “I am.”

“But you are not born of Mermish stock,” Royale concluded, more softly. “You show no mark of it that I can see.” Whatever proof he had been looking for, he seemed satisfied. “There are many strange things in our world. If it’s true the Founders came from another once, then why should such a thing still not be possible? I believe what you say.”

“Then we’ve reached an agreement,” Fandral offered, cheerful. “You can arrest both Alaria’s men and Ratchem’s, take part of the spoils, and we’ll be on our way.”

“What about her?” Royale moved his pistol just enough to briefly indicate Siún. “Turning a blind eye to your piracy is one thing, but I cannot allow a slave to go free.”

“Oh come on,” Darcy protested, clearly taken aback. “I thought you were one of the good guys. Don’t tell me you’re down with this whole enslavement thing too? It’s completely disgusting.”

“Whether or not I have sympathy for what some slaves are forced to endure has no bearing,” he said, evenly. “I am a man of the law. And the law says that no Child of Amphitrite can be allowed to go free. I am sorry, but here most of all I can certainly grant you no quarter.”

This drew a less than favorable reaction from the Asgardians. While Siún remained silent, her face growing closed-off and drawn, Volstagg moved in toward her protectively while the others glared at Royale.

“If that is the point we must part company on, then so be it,” Sif said sharply, her teeth showing.

“The Lady is with us now,” Hogun put in more gruffly. His hand was already on his weapon. “And we do not abandon our own.”

Loki had turned his head so he could watch the others and Royale simultaneously, his gaze narrow as eyes moved from side to side. “She’s leaving with us,” he stated, hoping that somehow the knowledge Siún would be out of Royale’s jurisdiction would appease him.

“I can’t let you do that,” the captain protested.

“Nidhogg take you, you can’t,” Volstagg spat, incensed. “She’s my wife! A noblewoman of Asgard. And your backwards laws have no sway on her.”

“That’s right.” Loki seized onto that information. “Siún was married to Lord Volstagg the Valiant one day past. That makes her now of Asgard. There is no conflict here, Captain; you have no right to hold her.”

Royale weighed this carefully. “There was a wedding? It was witnessed and sworn?”

“You better believe it was.” Darcy had her hands on her hips. “I did the marrying part myself, as captain. Just ask the people on the _Fishwife_ , if you can find them. Their entire crew was there as witnesses.”

A visible change came over the lawman’s expression. The thoughtfulness faded as his eyes grew hard, the set to his jaw disapproving and cool.

“It would be impossible to ask the crew of the _Fishwife_ anything,” he replied, disdainful and not without a note of venom, “seeing as how you saw fit to slaughter them all.”

There were startled sounds from all corners.

“That’s a lie!” Fandral exclaimed, color rising to his face hotly. “Nothing less than slander in the outright!”

“What is the meaning of this claim?” Sif demanded. “Explain yourself.”

Interestingly even with his potential assailants growing angry, Royale had finally seen fit to cease pointing his weapon. His arm was partially relaxed at an angle, finger no longer on the trigger as his pistol’s end faced the ceiling.

“We came across the ship floating aimlessly in the early hours of the morning,” he told them. “She’d been plundered of anything of remote value, and not a soul onboard was spared. Not even the women and children.”

Loki thought of the little boy, his wet-eyed mother, the two excitable daughters. Without realizing it his eyes drifted over to Darcy and he saw how all the color had been drained from her face.

“No,” she said, numbly, sickened. “How could that be possible? They were fine when we left them…those poor people…” Her gaze refocused and she caught the dark look of judgment on Royale’s face. “It wasn’t us! Why would I even mention them if I knew they were already dead?”

“Our captain makes a fine point, Royale,” Loki said to the man convincingly, quiet.

“Then how do you explain it?” he asked evenly in response.

“Well isn’t it obvious?” Volstagg blustered. “Those bandits, led by that fiend Ratchem. We already know they’ve been following us. They must’ve attacked the ship after we left them!”

“That is a very convenient story,” Royale pointed out.

“We are warriors of Asgard, sworn under numerous oaths to the highest service of our king; we do not attack the defenseless,” Hogun intoned sharply. “And we do not steal for the sheer sake of it, or out of greed.”

Loki backed him up, meeting Royale in the eye, using all the experience he’d gathered in centuries of bartering and attempts at diplomacy. “These are not our ways.”

“You have been pursuing us all this time? Then look to what you know,” Sif declared. “You should find proof aplenty that to do such a thing you describe would be totally unlike our behavior.”

“It’s true, it does not fit with the pattern of your other raids,” Royale conceded, though his tone was gradual and uncertain. “But if you are half so honorable as you claim then surely you must see the reasons I have for experiencing difficulty in trusting you. What I risk by making such a devil’s bargain.”

“You may think you have no reason to trust us, but consider tonight what you’ve seen with your own eyes,” Loki stated assertively. “If we wanted to harm you, could we not have already?” He gestured. “Think how easy it would’ve been to wait but a little longer and catch you completely unawares.”

A leader and stalwart man like Royale did his best to conceal his thoughts and feelings – but old hand as he was Loki could read him like a book.

He knew reason when he heard it, could concede to logic and rationality. Though it was so unlike anything he had ever heard there was that flicker in his eyes. On some level he _wanted_ to be convinced.

Loki pressed the last point home, playing his hand for all it was worth. “You don’t have to agree to anything blindly. Only give us the chance to prove ourselves. A display of good faith, on both sides,” he elaborated. “Come with us to begin as far as the island and we shall see what happens from there.”

Outwardly he was motionless as a stone as he waited, not daring to breathe, for the man’s answer. If Royale refused, if this didn’t work – but no, it _must_.

The silence seemed to hang in the air, weighty, though it could only have lasted but a few seconds.

Eventually a look of resolution, of acceptance settled in Royale’s eyes. He nodded, and lowered his arm completely.

“All right,” he agreed, setting his pistol down on the writing desk. “I’ll give you that much. And if what I see on this island proves you are trustworthy…we shall see.”

The relief from the rest of the crew could be felt, and half of them gave out sighs. Loki allowed himself a thin private smile of victory.

Now they had surpassed one obstacle, there was nothing left to do but keep going. Beat them all into submission – or fail trying in the attempt.

Like so many true adventures, it was down to all or nothing.

*

What it was Royale said to his men to convince them to go along with what must have seemed a mad plan, the Asgardians and their friends would never know. Once the deal had been struck and they shook on it, they left the captain to his own devices, to deliver the news and make explanations for himself.

Perhaps though there had been less need for persuasion than they might think. Possibly the strength of Royale’s word and his intentions was enough. He did seem a man who would invoke the faith of his crew in him – faith enough to prevent a mutiny.

Whatever happened Royale stuck to his end of the bargain: in the morning the _Silver Hound_ came and found their ship.

With a modicum of fussing the two vessels were bound together, the _Skull and Bones_ tailing the much larger ship by a short length of rope. Being trussed to the pirate ship couldn’t have sat well with the law-abiding sailors, but it was necessary.

Fandral and Hogun double-checked the map and retook their bearings, and then had their mates unfurl the sails as they made ready for another attempt to reach the hidden island.

Loki had taken position in the crow’s nest, staring straight ahead as he kept his eyes fixed on signs that so far only he could see. If they fell off-course, he could be counted on to shout out to his fellows immediately so they could correct it.

At the very end of the bow, the furthest point of the ship one could stand without jumping the rail and climbing out onto the bowsprit, Siún stood with hands clasped.

A far-off look on her face she sang a soft and haunting tune.

It had taken everything short of enchantment for Loki to invoke every last bit of confidence she had. Convincing her to reach within for what felt right, the ability that had always been there, waiting.

She presented an ethereal image there all alone on the edge just before the water, the length of her hair and the hem of her dress moving and blown back by the wind. In an otherwise dead ocean the winds swelled and billowed all around them – rising with the notes of Siún’s song, feeding on the strength of her voice.

As she sang, the _Skull and Bones_ sailed forward, born along steadily atop the waves, the _Silver Hound_ towed with it.

The Warriors Three and Sif gave Siún her space as they stood near the forward part of the deck. Though the island was still out of sight they could feel with anticipation the sense that they were moving closer, that they would be there soon.

They were grim and wary as they held their ground, eyes unblinking, hands on their weapons in readiness as they waited.

Darcy initially started on the deck by her other friends, but as the hours dragged by she grew restless and bored. She wasn’t like the Asgardian warriors, attention sustained by an impending sense of doom and preparation for battle. All that anxiety was starting to give her an ulcer.

She climbed up the mainmast to join Loki in the crow’s nest. If nothing else, they could keep each other company.

He started at first when she appeared, obviously surprised by her sudden decision to join him. But he spoke no words of objection, merely welcoming her with a nod. Darcy nodded back, went to the opposite end of the basket and for a little while the time passed in comfortable silence.

After a minute or two Darcy said softly, out of nowhere, “Loquah.” Resting her elbows on the edge of the nest she squinted at Loki over her shoulder, her voice taking on a musing tone. “I’ve been thinking about something the past couple days.”

“Have you?” Loki replied, equal amount of teasing and genuinely interested. “And I suppose now you’re going to enlighten me.”

“You bet,” Darcy said to him, unperturbed. “The more we saw of this planet the more it started to bother me. Sure, there are only so many ways to build a ship or a harbor, but how could so much here be exactly like what it was on Earth during like, the 1700s? And then it hit me.”

She emphasized: “ _Loquah_. I realized what it sounded like.” She stood up and turned to face Loki. “Human sailors used to say that when a ship sank, it was on its way down to Davy Jones’ _Locker_.”

“You think it’s more than coincidence,” Loki gathered.

“Well do you think it could be possible? Conspiracy nuts are always talking about places like the Bermuda Triangle, that suck people out of the ocean and make them disappear.” Darcy wondered, “What if there’s something to it? What if somehow, a long time ago, some sailors on Earth who went out to sea and never came back didn’t die, but ended up here?”

“It’s possible. There are secret ways hidden between many realms, pathways formed naturally by the twists and bends of Yggdrasil,” Loki told her. Pausing to reflect on the idea he mused, “I’ve been considering the possibility of something similar myself for several days now. There are things about the nature of this world that don’t entirely make sense on their own.”

“But they do once you factor in past interference by old timey pirates?”

“It would be one viable way of explaining it, certainly. And I’ve both heard and seen odder things than a way to travel between realms that lies at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Doesn’t it just figure,” Darcy remarked. “Billions of miles away across time and space, and humans are still finding ways to leave their sticky fingerprints all over everything.”

Loki gave her an amused smile, but before he could respond a bellowed cry rose up from the deck below them.

_“Land ho!”_

His head jerked as he turned to look, Darcy following suit. They had already passed through the barrier and were within it, the shore of the island a very small distance away, visible.

The island was small, its edges perfectly round and coated in a layer of green grass and not a single shrub or tree. The land was undoubtedly of unnatural construction.

A single small pier waited in the shallows. From its end was a smooth path that led to the only other feature: a towering and blocky building that looked a mixture of temple and fortress. The design was archaic, a deep burnished gold in color, and Loki recognized from his books the architecture of ancient Muspell.

“We’re here,” he announced quietly, as Darcy merely stared in speechless wonder.

Both ships tied off at the pier, the _Silver Hound_ freeing herself of being bound to the pirate ship before making her own moorings.

Siún claimed she felt tired, worn out, and seemed disinterested in exploring the island or its temple. She made her excuses and went off to lie down within the ship and rest her head. The rest of the crew disembarked, meeting Captain Royale on the pier accompanied by a small band of his men.

“Well,” Fandral commented, “here we are. What do you think of an Asgardian’s word so far, captain?”

“It was an interesting journey,” Royale said in response, neutrally. “But I must concede. As of this point you’ve yet to give me any reason to rethink our bargain.”

“We’ll retrieve the treasure first, and then after that we may discuss plans for battle?” Loki offered. “Best to focus on one thing at a time.”

Royale stole a glance at his men, who going by their faces harbored an even greater mistrust of the others than their leader – or perhaps were worse at concealing it. “I will allow your party to go ahead and enter the ruin before us,” Royale informed them, coolly.

“Oh, sure,” Darcy realized. “You’re letting _us_ be the ones to check for booby-traps.”

Royale favored her with a faint smile. “And we remain here, between you and your ship, so that you can’t double-cross us and leave. A fair consideration, no?”

“One hopes you will be better able to put your faith behind our actions, and us yours, before we risk our lives fighting together,” Sif commented darkly, giving a look that bordered on disapproval.

Royale spread one arm as he gave a bow, though his other remained on the hilt of his sword. “My lady, you have all my sincerity when I say that that is my hope as well,” he said to her, earnest.

Though it was far from pleasing, an objective mind had to begrudgingly accept that the captain was allowed his paranoia. The pirate crew made their way up the path to the temple alone.

If Royale and his men had legitimately hoped there would be traps to kill off their would-be allies, however, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

The outside of the ancient building had been lavishly decorated. The inside was all but plain, featuring little more than a few faint carvings on the stone walls, grand in scale though they may have been.

Any decoration would have been unnecessary, superfluous.

Behind a pair of grand doors was a set of steps that led down into the building’s interior: one single giant room, filled from end to end with one continuous pile of overflowing treasure.

It was the ancient hoard of fantasy and legend that even experienced adventurers seldom in reality found. There were golden chalices and golden statues, crowns and staves and all sorts of other objects made out of precious metals. There were chests, golden and silver plated weapons, and enough gems and coins to swim in.

In fact Darcy couldn’t resist the urge to find a small pile to drop down on her back in, intending to wave her arms and kick her legs and make something resembling a snow angel.

Sadly, she realized very quickly that gold and jewels does not make for so soft a pile as snow or leaves.

While Volstagg shouted eagerly over a golden boar, Sif gave an ornamented blade a few practice swings, and Hogun stoically helped a grumbling Darcy back to her feet as she rubbed her aching back, Fandral and Loki found themselves standing aside and taking it all in.

“Well. Here we are.” Fandral looked about, hands on his hips as he surveyed the furthest reaches of the treasury. “After all this, at last our hunt has reached its conclusion.”

“Indeed.” Absently Loki plucked up a single coin, turning it between two fingers. “What do you say, Lord Fandral? Has everything we’ve gone through, all our troubles, been worth it?”

A look came over Fandral’s face that for him counted as wry, and Loki knew at once he was thinking of how their adventure was not yet quite over.

Fandral replied, “Ask me again tomorrow.”

*

The treasure was divvied up between the crews with a refreshing lack of difficulty. And then it was left behind in the island storehouse, so that the vessels could participate in battle unencumbered by its weight.

No one insisted or argued on the need of someone being left behind to guard it.

It seemed the lawmen were beginning to trust the word and sincerity of their new allies after all. And just in the nick of time.

All day long both ships were a flurry of activity, respective crews climbing over them in search of weaknesses that needed mending, assuring the vessels were in shape before the confrontation.

Loki cast heavy charms over the _Skull and Bones_ , temporary but strong: enchantments to make her more resistant to the weather, to make her harder to focus on and more difficult to hit. He cast the same charms on the _Silver Hound_ as well, and in exchange Captain Royale gave them extra cannonballs and powder, and even offered up two of his own ship’s cannons to replace the ones they had lost.

With every passing moment as more and more preparations were completed, the time to fight was drawing nearer at hand.

Their war counsel had been had. The plan for attack was made. Everyone knew their part, their role. Now it was only a matter of being able to fulfill it.

They had done both magical and traditional reconnaissance and plotted the enemy ships’ approach. Though undoubtedly they could not realize it, Alaria and Ratchem would be closing the gap almost simultaneously coming from opposite directions.

The allied forces would wait until the others were in position. Then the two ships would leave the barrier that now served as their hiding place, charging their foes under full sail. With them aware of and able to compensate for the magic that bound the wind, and their enemies not, it could be hoped they would have the advantage.

Royale and his crew would take on the _Silver Hound_. The Skull and Bones would be left to dispatch with the _Ariel._

And though the man of law had made it clear he wanted to capture as many of the other crews as possible, to take them back to be tried for their actions, he knew and it went without saying – the slavers and the professional pirates would be giving no quarter back. Many sailors would die in this confrontation.

There was nothing they could hope for but to be brave, and wise, and do their best to minimize the damage.

The sun moved swiftly across the sky, shadows growing long as day crept on into night. When the light grew dim and finally the sun began to set, the horizon was tinged by a deep shade of rose that grew darker and darker.

Until the sky was at first streaked, and then completely coated, by a deep blood red.

Darcy stood in the middle of the deck, in a calm pocket of the storm, and looked up at it.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” she laughed.

She had changed out of the clothing she had been wearing for the better part of their journey. Gone were the skirts, the low-cut bodice. Instead Darcy had traded in for a pair of trousers under her boots, and a long-sleeved shirt beneath a knee-length coat trimmed with buttons and brocade. _Now_ she looked like pirate captain, and of a different sort than she had been before.

In one pocket she had a loaded pistol, and on the other side of her belt hung her sword.

Loki found his way to her, weaving amongst the flurry of activity, and for a moment he merely stood there and regarded her appearance.

“You’re certain this is what you want to do?” he finally asked, not for the first time.

Darcy nodded. “This is the big one. The last hurrah, the end-all be-all, the one that decides everything,” she stated. “I’m through with hiding and letting everyone else handle it. I’m going to be a part of this fight. I’m ready.”

Her face was still, strained with a prematurely shell-shocked sort of composure, and she looked not at Loki as she spoke but stared straight ahead. Her voice was forced steady though underneath was revealed her nerves, trembling.

It made her sound only like what she was: a soldier, prepared to march off into their first war.

Slowly she looked up at him. “Or at least, as ready as I’ll ever be,” she amended, softer.

Loki rested a hand on her shoulder. “This is not necessary,” he reminded her. But Darcy shook her head.

“It is,” she insisted. “It is for me.”

She wasn’t going to back down. She wanted to have her part to play, to stand truly alongside her friends. And Loki knew better than to try talking someone out of what they felt demanded by their pride.

His gaze was sad as he looked on at her. “I worry for you. If anything were to happen-”

“I can – mostly –take care of myself, now. And I’ll have the other guys around to help protect me,” Darcy argued. “Besides, _you’re_ the one who’s going to be going where it’s not safe.”

The crew would be fighting from the deck of the ship, only engaging the slavers in close combat if they initiated it. But Loki had a different part to play – for he did not intend to wait around for surrender.

He would be sneaking back aboard the enemy ship, returning to the _Ariel_ , and seeking out Alaria for himself.

Loki gave a nod, absently acknowledging Darcy’s own concerns.

Then he leaned forward, wrapping both arms around her as he pulled her into a hug.

“Stay safe, my friend,” he commanded. “I will see you after.”

“You too,” Darcy returned, a ghost of a teary smile in her voice. As they parted she gave him one more tug on the arm. “See you on the other side.”

At the last possible second, she suddenly went, “Loki – what do you plan to do with Alaria?”

He faced her without hesitation. “I’m going to kill her, of course.”

“Okay.” Darcy’s voice was somber, but her mouth was a straight line, and she nodded. “Good.”

She turned around to watch some of the preparations being made with the weapons, and Loki walked off. As he went, from a safe distance he paused to steal one last look at her.

 _Silly little mortal girl._ The friend he had never wanted, had not anticipated, and who had become so dear to him so soon. And they had been through more together than many would’ve imagined.

But through it all Darcy remained frail, ordinary, and unflinchingly herself – and Loki would’ve had it no other way, for that was who _she_ was, and he loved her for that.

He should not have begrudged her that willingness to fight, to grow strong. But battle, real battle, would change her. The sons and daughters of Asgard were a martial race and Loki had seen it hundred times.

He had felt the mark of it within himself.

He would never be able to fully shake it, what’d been twisted inside him when he temporarily became possessed of the willingness to kill without thought – the hundreds of lives he took without hesitation, without care. But even long before that, even for reasons comparatively innocent: he knew he became a different man the first time he ever killed an enemy.

If Darcy fought, she would change. The instant she drew blood with a weapon in hand, backed by intention, she would no longer be _Darcy_.

Loki went and found Fandral, the one person in this matter, perhaps ironically, he trusted.

Most Asgardians would respond to his concerns by saying it was good that one should become a warrior. But Fandral he thought could be counted on to see that mortals were made of a different ilk.

He gripped the other man tight by the bicep, instantly garnering his attention. “In the battle that is to come, I want you to stay close to Darcy,” Loki said to him, low and intense. “I want you to keep an eye on her. Promise me you will.”

“You think you need to tell me any of this?” Fandral protested, wide-eyed. He shook off Loki’s hand. “That I wasn’t already planning to stay by her side much as I could, intending to protect her?”

“You don’t understand. I don’t just want her protected. I want her protected from herself.”

As Fandral stared at him, perturbed, Loki stated his point clearly, almost pleading: “Do not let her spill enemy life’s-blood. If she wishes to fight in defense of herself, that’s fine. But do _not_ let her kill. Please.”

A light of comprehension dawned in Fandral’s eyes, and he nodded, understanding.

“All right. I’ll do it. I swear.”

They clasped forearms, a wordless making of an oath, as much as it was a farewell and an exchange of wishes for luck. And then they parted, and went their separate ways.

Loki would not see any of them again until after. He could only hope that his friends would be all right.

*

Darcy might’ve been intent on playing a direct role in the conflict, but her only fellow noncombatant aboard the ship was in no hurry to change her status.

Siún may have come a long, long way since when she first met the others. She had learned to speak for herself, to desire and respect her own freedom. But ultimately she was well-practiced in maintaining a docile manner; in stepping back and leaving others to decide, and handle, the business of fate.

And she was not, nor would ever be, a fighter. Violence and aggression would be things she always sought to avoid.

During the dealings with Royale she’d maintained her distance, fists clenched and head down, mouth firmly shut. She had not even wanted to be there in the first place – she only came along out of solidarity with the others. And flattered though she was they had spoken up in her defense she hadn’t needed them to defend her honor.

And when the time came to make ready for the real battle, Siún didn’t need them to encourage her to stay out of the way, safe. She was prepared already to run and hide.

Win or lose, she knew there was nothing she could offer the warriors by her support. What was best was for her to stay where she couldn’t be a distraction.

In the last minutes before the _Skull and Bones_ was about to start her charge, Volstagg took her aside to the cabin, where the window had already been boarded shut and he moved the bed in a better position to barricade the door.

“Once I leave, shut this door behind me and then push the bed the rest of the way against it,” he told Siún, hurried. “Don’t open it after that. You stay inside and keep safe. Once the fighting is done, I’ll come and find you straight away. I promise.”

“Yes, all right. I understand.” Siún nodded to reassure him, and raised a hand to briefly touch his chin. “I won’t go anywhere. You stay safe, until then.”

Volstagg opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything else to say, trailing off in a sound almost like a whimper. He moved to embrace her deeply and for a moment they stood there and held each other.

“Come back to me,” Siún couldn’t resist entreating when they parted.

“I will,” Volstagg assured her. He looked over his shoulder. “We don’t have much time. I love you.” As he backed through the door before closing it he gave one last bit of encouragement: “Remember, it will all be over soon.”

 _Soon,_ Siún thought.

From where she was, “soon” couldn’t come nearly quick enough.

She huddled in the center of the floor on the opposite side of the barricade, crouched with her back to the solid object and her knees against her chest.

It was dark. From between the cracks in the boards over the window she could make the occasional bit of movement and light; flashes and fire. She could hear from all around the cacophony of battle.

Weapons fired, swords clanked, wood creaked and groaned. There were shouts and grunts and the occasional scream from outside. The noises were too strange and numerous for her to identify any of the voices. Sometimes she imagined she recognized one from her friends, but most of the time it was lost to the chaos. With no sights to go on it sounded as if there were a hundred fighters on each side.

Siún kept her head down, and she waited.

She made no sounds of her own. She didn’t dare move. She barely breathed.

Before leaving Loki had pressed into her hand a small weapon, a strange curving dagger that from the adornment she knew must belong to him.

“To defend yourself,” he told her, quiet. “Just in case the worse happens.”

Siún’s hand had closed around it numbly. It felt wrong in her grasp. “Of course.”

She’d turned to go, but Loki had one last word to get in, and had carefully caught her and pulled her back to face him. He stared into her eyes.

“Promise me,” he had said, “that if cornered, you’ll use it to take down at least a few enemies, before you turn it on yourself.”

Siún swallowed. She felt detached from her body. But she had nodded.

“I promise.”

So as she sat alone in the dark, surrounded by the nearby cries of the dying and the cursing of bloodthirsty men, Siún gripped the dagger point-down in both hands close by her chest, under her chin. She waited, ready to use it.

She just hoped that she wouldn’t have to.

*

The fighting had started out exactly as planned. The _Skull and Bones_ and the _Silver Hound_ had taken their positions flawlessly, and within minutes everything happened at once.

Cannon shots were exchanged. The _Ariel_ took on significant damage, and then began lobbing volleys of fire. Before long the slavers had moved to close the distance between the two vessels in an act of aggressive desperation.

There was no telling if things were going well for the _Silver Hound_ , how they were doing as they tangled with the _Flogged Ghost_. It could be only hoped the crew was holding fast and making progress. There was no time, no room to look around and check, as the Asgardians were too embroiled in the heat of their own combat.

It had not been quite expected that the _Ariel_ would get so close to them so fast. Or that so many of the slavers would cross the distance on ropes to try and forcibly board the other vessel, bringing the fighting to the deck of the _Skull and Bones_.

It had quickly turned into a chaotic melee, a free for all, as dozens of slavers took on the five pirates attempting to hold them back.

Perhaps the slavers had attempted so bold a push thinking that without the cannons between them their side would have the upper hand. And surely they did possess the superior numbers.

But they greatly underestimated the literal strength of their foes. And to one Asgardian armed with their chosen weaponry and lightly armored, they could make short work of no small number of mortals.

Fandral laughed with wild abandon as he danced in and out among clusters of the enemy, felling men bodily with a single thrust. Volstagg roared, his mighty axe cleaving a skull in half, shattering a leg bone, as with his free arm he hurled slavers overboard into the brink. Sif fought with shield in one hand and sword in the other, and when her shield became too cumbersome in the close-knit fighting she discarded it easily in favor of her glaive. Hogun swung his mace in wide, impressive arcs, doing also a significant amount of damage with just his fists.

At one point a small fire broke out on the surface of the deck, and it raged in the background unchecked, casting a reddish orange glare over everything before it finally grew so large it could be ignored no longer, and the Asgardians turned their back on the fighting to beat it out.

Any would-be attacker that tried to take advantage of them while they were distracted was quickly dispatched, and once the fire was extinguished without needing a pause to catch their breaths the warriors returned to combat.

The slavers must have thought that they did battle with _demons_.

Fighting on the ship was tricky, because of close quarters and the at-times uneven footing, the unsteady and unpredictable motion. And it was certainly very different from the rank and file of the battlefield.

But the warrior band was made of seasoned adventurers, used to travelling and brawling in all types of sudden and unfamiliar circumstances, and they were able to adapt. Whenever they were cornered or caught off-guard they managed to recover and come back swinging, ready for more.

There was an unending symphony of metal on metal, broken by the staccato of uneven thuds as one body after another hit the floor.

And then, caught up somewhere in the middle of it all, was pirate captain Darcy Lewis.

Her lessons and long time spent observing the others had paid off. And it didn’t hurt that most of the men she was fighting were cutthroats, unskilled thugs who bested most with brute force rather than skill. She was able to defend herself, tripping her opponents up or knocking them unconscious, or wearing them down until she could get away – or one of her more martial allies could intervene. So far, her kill count sat at precisely zero.

A free-flowing cut sat above one eye on her forehead, another trickle of blood on her chin where in a moment of agitation she’d accidentally bitten through her lip. Her arm felt tired and heavy, her entire body wired with adrenaline as she lifted her sword again and again to block, stab, parry.

She had fired her pistol once, what felt like hours ago, not long after the battle began. It lodged in a man’s leg above his knee as he had climbed on board, and he fell, cursing and clawing at his wound. There’d been no chance to reload. Another slaver was reaching for her and Darcy reacted, using the pistol like a blunt object and hurling it at his head.

It didn’t matter anyway. Using her one weapon had kept her busy enough since then.

Using the momentum off of her sword she parried one man’s overhead attack, spinning him around. She sent him flying Hogun’s way – she heard a sick crack, and looked no more. She spun around just in time to slice open a man’s hand as he tried to punch her. In the gap that opened up when he dropped, howling, she watched Sif put her glaive through another man’s eye.

 _Keep moving,_ Darcy told herself, not giving any time to stop and think. _Keep fighting. This has to end eventually._

The night air was thick with the sound of yelling. Everything smelled like gunpowder and blood and iron. The deck felt wet, slick under her boots, and she hoped it was with seawater.

Darcy staggered forward, then moved spritely as she tried to catch her breath. She knew she couldn’t hang around in one position for long.

She heard a half-articulated growl and from the side of her vision another man rushed at her. Darcy gritted her teeth and fought off the urge to shut her eyes as she squeezed her sword’s hilt in both hands.

They traded blows, back and forth, blades moving in every direction as Darcy managed to match him for speed if not strength. Without realizing it she let him push her backwards, putting her on the retreat.

Her heel slipped and she stumbled, tripping, managing to catch herself one of the masts before she fell. The slaver kept coming towards her, sneering, swinging his blade in a motion meant to kill. In her halfway upright position, one arm still occupied steadying herself, Darcy didn’t have many options.

She lifted her arm, sword rising to counter his on instinct, even as she knew beneath her desperation that the move she was making was not nonlethal. But she could see no other way of defending herself.

Suddenly her attacker froze up, just seconds before her weapon reached him and his reached her. His face went slack, contorting in a grimace, and with a choke and a stutter he fell forward.

Fandral stood directly behind him, grip firm on his rapier where he slid it free from where he’d pierced the dead man’s heart.

Darcy sucked in a breath. “Thanks,” she managed to find her voice to say.

Fandral gave her a small salute, tapping two fingers to his brow. “Think not of it, my dear lady.”

And then he was gone, returned to battle as if nothing had happened.

As much as she wanted to Darcy couldn’t sit tight and sort out what occurred. She had to get back to it as well.

*

If all was chaos and the madness of battle aboard the pirate ship, it was much worse back on the _Ariel_.

There was no fighting taking place there, not directly, but there was no shortage of desperate activity. The deck pounded with vibration as men ran to and fro, shrieking commands and curses at one another. Fires needed to be put out, dangerous leaks needed to be repaired, cannons needed to be loaded and fired.

Most of the wounded were left unattended to, if anyone even bothered to notice them at all. Misanthropists knew a lost cause when they saw it.

The black waters leapt up at the _Ariel_ ; too close. The waves thrashed her about with more force than they should’ve been able to, betraying she’d taken on far more than cosmetic damage. The hull had been battered and breached in several places by cannon fire, the masts cracking and the sails shredded, and on the starboard side there was a splintered gap where part of the floor had once been.

The men tried to give back as good as they got but were failing. They weren’t going to win this battle outright, and there was no running from it either. Not with so much damage.

Before long they would have to concede that the _Ariel_ herself was doomed.

The slavers were arming to the teeth, ready to save themselves if not to save their ship. Most were headed over to the enemy vessel – though some, taking advantage of the many distractions, might have been trying to sneak to the longboats. In a crew bound together by money and wrongdoing, few were willing to stand together when times got rough.

Even without a ship of their own there was still a chance the tide could be turned in their favor. If they overwhelmed the _Skull and Bones_ they could take that one instead.

Though it was reaching the point where even that soon looked to be impossible, and right now it was more a mad hope than a plan.

As soon it began to set in how dire things were Alaria had picked up her heels and fled. Leaving behind the deck - leaving the sailors still on it to do whatever they wished - she hurried below to the locked rooms within the bowels of the ship that served as her private quarters.

The state of the matter had become clear to her before it would the others. The _Ariel_ was sinking. But Alaria’s thoughts were devoid of woe over this fact or any wasted ideas on how to save the vessel.

The _Ariel_ was her ship; she owned it, but in the end that was all it was to her. Just another thing she owned. She paid someone else to be its captain and left it to her crew of thugs to do the actual sailing. Her knowledge and skill barely exceeded that of a landlubber. Such things were not part of what she considered her prerogative.

No, if the ship was going down, Alaria did not intend to go down with it. Nor was she going to allow herself to be captured and suffer those consequences. She was leaving.

And if she was going to make her escape, she hardly planned to take her flight empty-handed.

Reaching her destination and slamming the door shut absently behind her, Alaria took the room in with a breathless glance. Satisfied that none of her men had similar thoughts and beat her to it, she stalked over to the heavy wooden chest where she stored her own personal hoard.

Lifting the lid revealed cloth sacks of coins, a few small lockboxes and some loose gems. Alaria stuffed some of the gems into the pockets of her coat and reached for the largest of the boxes.

Without turning she spoke the word of command to activate and summon her golem; finding it beneficial to keep the construct close at her side, when not in use it was programmed to rest within her quarters.

Her summons however had no effect. Brow creasing, lips working into a confused frown, Alaria looked up. When after a moment there was still no sign of the golem she moved to the wall and flung aside a gauzy curtain.

A pile of demolished rock spilled out at her feet, stones clinking and crackling. Alaria stepped back with a start and an astonished hiss.

The golem was gone and in its place was left nothing but shattered clay and broken rubble. There was some vague resemblance in certain places to what had been the construct’s shape, but nothing more. Powerful magic had been used to unmake it. Powerful, and very thorough.

Alaria stared at the useless stones that were all that remained of her protector with wide eyes. Her breath came thickly to her throat, and along the back of her neck she felt a prickle of fear.

There was movement to her left and she turned to watch Loki step out of the shadows.

His face was completely impassive, a hard blank that was naturally intimidating for how alien it seemed. He threw down an armful of chains– the enchanted chains she’d used to imprison him. They landed perfectly atop what he had reduced her golem to. Alaria flinched instinctively at the sound.

“No strong servant to fight for you,” Loki stated carefully, staring directly at her, and nothing else. “No chains, or bars, to keep others at bay. No army of men paid to do your bidding.” He spread his arms, indicating how very empty besides the two of them the room was.

“All of your usual measures, your usual tricks, gone. You have nothing to hide behind now.” His expression remained dark but briefly it turned also bitter, sour, and he sneered. “Nothing to use, while you take advantage of the weak.”

Alaria’s eyes remained wide as she watched him, unblinking, wary. Seemingly unable to speak as she waited for him to make his move.

Loki broke the silence with a vicious gesture, flinging out one hand as he seized the chest from her grasp with a tendril of magic. Alaria released her hold soon as she felt the tug, letting go like the metal was hot and had burned her, but Loki did not take the money for himself. Instead he dropped the chest before it reached him and it split open halfway between them, the contents spilling against the floor in a burnished golden clatter.

This sound shook Alaria from her trance, and when it had faded she lurched to one side of the room, gaze returning briefly to Loki in darts as she went for a weapon.

Loki moved forward from his spot, taking great strides at the pace of a leisurely stroll. He was unperturbed by Alaria’s actions.

“I tried to tell you once before I was not the type of being you thought I was. You didn’t listen. In truth, I am glad of this fact.”

Alaria found a short sword tucked in one corner of the room, a curved blade half the length of a standard broadsword. Grasping it before her in one hand she whirled about, face set in a grim mask of desperation bent of survival.

Loki bore down on her as if he didn’t notice the weapon, his head held high, his eyes surrounded by shadows, burning.

“I am Loki, son of the All-Father and firstborn get of Laufey-king. I am Loki, prince of Asgard. I am Liesmith, Silvertongue, Skywalker, called Master of Shadows and Father of Serpents and Wolves. I am wearer of a thousand faces and weaver of a thousand tales.” He raised his hands, fingers curled, illuminated by dancing spheres of emerald balefire. “I am he who laughs at madness and revels in the unfolding of chaos. I am he who is said to bring about the ending of the Nine Worlds.”

He leaned in, teeth bared as he stared down into Alaria’s gaze.

“I am a _god_ , you foolish, baseborn wretch,” he snapped out, terse. “And you would have me bound, and violated, and treated as if I was no more than a sow. Have you _any_ idea what it is you have done?”

Alaria somehow found her tongue. “You are no god of mine,” she retorted. Raising her weapon she made a feeble attempt to bury it in Loki’s heart.

Loki stopped her easily. Twisting the blade out of her grasp he flicked his wrist, turning it around with the proficiency of one who’d spent centuries playing with daggers.

“No,” Loki agreed. “For you have no gods. You hold yourself accountable to nothing higher; you worship nothing – save this.” With his free hand he gestured to the coins on the floor.

“These,” he said, full of disgust and contempt, “are the only gods you hold dear. Well. Since you have no mark of understanding for the wrath of a true being of higher power, let me send you to join your fallen idols.”

“ _Wait,_ ” Alaria cried, opening her mouth for a choked cry of protest.

Loki did not listen. Loki did not hesitate. There was nothing she could say to dissuade him; nothing that she could offer. The idea he could be bribed was insulting. And anything else she could give was meaningless to him, up to and including some form of justice for all the slaves she had dealt with.

This was not about _justice_. That the greater good might well be serviced by her death was no concern of Loki’s. He was cold and dismissive to the cause.

This was only about vengeance. About repayment for what had been done to him.

And Loki knew his own nature, and was at peace with the thought.

His hands would never again be clean and he’d no lofty ideals of heroism. Even after leaving the abyss he’d teetered on, there was no changing the creature he would always be. He could accomplish good things, but he was nota good man.

Which was why he was so well-suited as a hangman; an executioner.

He drove the sword deep into Alaria’s gut and left it there, hands falling away without a streak of red from the killing blow. The slaver coughed and gagged, lungs failing fast as she was consumed by her death rattle.

She staggered to the wall, long nails clawing at the surface to hold herself upright. She failed and slumped against it instead, sliding slowly to the floor.

There was a look on her face all the while as if beneath her own panic she was surprised – or insulted. As if she couldn’t believe Loki could kill her, or perhaps that anyone could. Those obsessed with power and greed often didn’t.

Her head dropped back and the light left her dark eyes. Her mouth partially slack in death, a trickle of blood ran from between her lips. And from the wound that had been her undoing blood poured freely.

The red trailed down her dead body, some of it staining the coins that had been scattered on the floor.

*

In the early hours of dawn, the waters pale and the sky hazy, the _Silver Hound_ sailed to meet with the _Skull and Bones._

There was visible damage to the ship from last night’s sea battle and a few lifeless forms on her deck covered in white sheets. But otherwise all appeared well, and the men of law in relatively good spirits warranted by the state of their grim victory.

Ratchem and his men were kept penned on one corner of the flagship’s upper deck, shackled together and betraying a sullen and disheveled appearance that only added to their general air of defeat.

The _Flogged Ghost_ , Captain Royale told them, when the two sides came together to trade stories on how the night had gone, was under the command of an attachment of his own men, who would take stock of the vessel and any damage that needed to be repaired before sailing it back to Kraken’s Cove to be refitted and repurposed.

“And what of the _Ariel_?” he asked them, curious, having no doubt noticed there was no sign of the slaving vessel.

“She was sunk,” Hogun replied tonelessly, not bothering to glance at his fellows for confirmation. But the others indicated by their grim silence that it was so.

The damage to the _Ariel_ had been extensive, but not unsalvageable. But there had been no debate among the five Asgardians and their mortal captain. Once they’d liberated the ship of captured men who were neither dead nor dying they turned their cannons on it to finish the job.

The ship that had brought misery to so many, with Alaria’s untouched corpse still upon it, sank down into the depths at the very bottom of the sea.

Silently Royale turned his head to take in the expressions on all their stony faces. Then he nodded, and asked no further questions.

“It is so,” he said, content. There were a few brief formal compliments exchanged between him and them, congratulations on their shared victory and a battle well-fought.

With some assistance from Royale’s men the slavers were transferred over to their ship to join the other prisoners. The captain assured them that once back in Kraken’s Cove they would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, and that both the weight of their crimes and the proof was great. The pirates would almost assuredly be executed, though some of them might be given imprisonment or hard labor if they could offer up something in exchange. For Barnabas Ratchem, there’d be no escaping the noose.

His walk to the gallows would be a public spectacle, and citizens would flock from very far away to witness it, and cheer. The governor of Kraken’s Cove would bask in finishing him as an honor.

The slavers would receive a wider variety of treatment depending precisely on what it was each of them had done. The worst would die. The rest would be branded and spend several years on a chain gang.

Those among them with merfolk blood, and there were a few, would be sold into slavery in what in that particular case felt a bit like ugly karmic justice.

Once Royale had finished trading with the others details on their respective sides of the battle, he took another look around at the faces of the seven.

“What was done,” he concluded, “was noble and necessary, but ultimately a harsh business. For my part I feel no celebration, only satisfaction.”

“For once,” Sif informed him, “I believe we agree with you.”

The Asgardians were happy. There was no denying that. But it was the happiness at the end of a long road, only as focused on the victories they gained by the knowledge the journey was over. Among the ups of their adventure had been quite a few downs, and it was only after resting that the story they had to tell now would be remembered as exciting.

For once they had no cheers, no hearty boasts of triumph. They merely had their tired smiles, and the looks of respite and companionship they shared with one another.

Darcy stood among them, arms folded, feeling particularly worn to the bone. She was still wearing the clothes from last night’s battle, boasting a few spots of blood and some tatters gained from the fight.

Mostly she was glad it was all over and now they’d be going home. They’d had some fun along the way, but she was ready for the end.

Though along with the relief in her heart she felt warmth brought on by pride. She had stood next to her warrior friends and while she hadn’t done as well as them, she held her own. She hadn’t just been along for the ride; this had been _her_ adventure as much as theirs.

(After the last cannon had fired in the latest hours of the evening, after the last man had surrendered, and all was the eerie quiet that permeated the cleanup of such a thing, Loki had returned to the ship, hands empty and tongue stilled, and Darcy had immediately run to his side.

They looked at each other, each asking a silent question and giving an equally silent answer.

For her it was, _Did you kill her?_ , and his answer was, _Yes._

And for him it was, _Did you lose blood-innocence?,_ and her answer was, _No._

Wordlessly they ran into each other’s arms and hugged.)

Royale waited, but no one else said anything. After a moment it seemed though he himself had nothing more to say.

“What will you do now, Captain?” Fandral asked him at last, breaking the stagnant silence.

“Now, I believe, I will conclude this business, and complete my half of the bargain,” he responded, musing. He gave one last look at all of them, and then gave a faint smile.

“In a way, it has been a pleasure meeting and fighting alongside you all. I wish you the greatest luck on your homeward journey.”

He took in the Warriors Three and Loki with a glance, bowing his head respectfully. “My lords.” His gaze moved to include Darcy and Sif, and he nodded at each of them.

Then his piercing eyes centered on Siún where she stood next to Volstagg, the two of them having been holding hands ever since their reunion. Darcy held her breath.

Royale swept off his hat, bowing his head and gracefully bending forward so low he all but took a knee.

“My lady,” he said to her, “I wish you the best in your marriage and the rest of your life.”

Darcy breathed out again a in a huff, surprised, as both and Siún and Volstagg smiled.

“For someone who follows such strange vows, Captain, you’re not an entirely dishonorable man,” Volstagg was heard to say.

Seeming to accept the remark as the compliment it was likely intended to be, Royale only smiled at him, somewhat wryly. He stood up again and replaced his hat.

“And now we shall return back to the island,” he concluded, “retrieve our shares of the treasure, and continue on our separate ways.”

He turned his back on them, thinking that the end of the matter, and started to walk back towards his ship as he was ready to leave, his men following behind him.

However he was stopped by a lifted hand and a word from Loki.

“Hold on. Just a moment,” he called to them politely. Loki glanced over in Darcy’s direction. “I think, if you are willing, our captain had one last small request.”

Darcy bit her lip, rubbing the back of her head with one hand as Royale’s even gaze landed on her.

“Um. Is there any chance that you have a copy with you of one of those ‘wanted for piracy’ posters?”

*

Back on Asgard, Jane Foster sat in the mostly-empty grand entrance hall of the palace, eyes on her notebook as she focused on some equations she was writing.

She was trying very hard to keep her mind only on her work, because otherwise she thought her boyfriend, the Thunder God who seemed more at present like the God of _Brooding_ , might just drive her crazy.

From where he sat on the floor a distance away with his chin in his hands, Thor sighed. Heavily.

Jane didn’t look up and did her best to ignore him.

Darcy and Loki and the others had been gone a long, long time, sure. Long enough that there’d been time in the middle for Jane to briefly return to Earth for a couple of days to be debriefed by SHIELD and talk to Erik and the rest of the Avengers and tell them what happened.

And it wasn’t like she wasn’t worried as well. If anything at times she felt practically _sick_ with worrying. She was fairly certain it was giving her an ulcer, and as calm as she usually managed to be during the day, sometimes in the middle of the night she would wake up from a nightmare of something horrible happening to Darcy. No; Jane was definitely worried.

It’s just that from where she was there didn’t seem to be anything they could _do_ about it.

Most of Asgard had responded to news of the group’s departure with a sort of collective shrug and an air of cheerful acceptance. These kind of things on their world were rather commonplace.

After the first week Odin had sent an envoy to Queen Karnilla, demanding that if she could not produce his son and their friends then she at least assure him of their safety.

The Norns’ queen had sent back a merry and somewhat cryptically-worded reply, but one that ultimately seemed to say Loki and the others were still alive and that furthermore, she seemed to mostly expect them to remain so.

After the second week, Frigga herself had gone to see Heimdall, entreating him of whether or not he had managed to see even a glimpse of the missing warriors.

The fact Heimdall had not sent word to them before now was answer enough. But he told his queen with some regret that he had not – that the travelers were likely outside of the main Nine Realms and thus hidden from his sight.

And if Heimdall and the All-Father couldn’t do anything to get Darcy and the Asgardians back any faster, well then what chance did _Jane_ have? There was nothing they could do but wait.

Thor did not seem able to accept this knowledge with nearly as much grace.

From his gloomy perch, Thor sighed again. From the place on the floor where Spot was curled up beside him, the unicorn gave a side and weary-sounding “Meh”.

When a few minutes later Thor sighed for a third time, Jane finally sat up and shut her notebook between her palms.

“Thor,” she started, in a sympathetic but exasperated tone that spoke volumes.

Thor balked but he looked at her with wide and unhappy eyes that reminded her of a distraught child’s.

“Thirty-one days, Jane,” he reminded her in protest. “Thirty-one _days_ , and there has been neither a word or a sign!”

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I hate it too. But you know your father said there was nothing you could do about it.”

He couldn’t even get Karnilla to send him after the others to the same place – Thor had already asked.

As Jane watched him, frowning with concern and consternation, Thor got to his feet and gripped fists behind his back as he began to pace restlessly. But at least he wasn’t venting his anger by smashing pillars or flipping tables again.

It had been definitely hard for Jane, dealing with him when he was in that phase.

Thor came to an abrupt halt, turning again to face her. “I worry for my brother, Jane. It would be some cruel joke of the Fates, to lose him like this now. And I worry for the safety of my friends. And Darcy!” He sucked in a breath, the look on his face overcast. “She is but mortal, and I had sworn she was under my protection. And the only reason she was placed in harm’s way was because of me.”

He shook his head. “If anything has happened to her, it will be all my fault.”

“Now hold that one thought for just a minute.” Jane stood up carefully. “That’s not entirely true. Sure, Darcy would’ve never gotten involved in Asgard in the first place if she had never met you. But you are _not_ the reason she was here.” She moved closer to Thor. “Darcy came to visit Asgard because she thinks it’s interesting, and exciting, and she’s made other friends here.”

It was Jane’s turn to give her head a shake. “Ultimately she’s free to make her own choices, and if at the end of the day those put her in danger then no one else is to blame for that.” She placed a hand on Thor’s arm. “Darcy wouldn’t want it any other way. She’d want us to respect her decisions. Do you understand?” she asked, softer.

Thor met her eyes a moment. His gaze lowered to the floor as he continued thinking, then back to hers when he reached out and took the fingers of her hand between his own.

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. “It can just be sometimes hard to accept.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Jane told him. “But we just have to hang on, okay? Until our friends get back.” She drew a breath to fight off the stinging of tears as she couldn’t help getting a little emotional. “We have to have faith.”

“Sometimes I think faith must be easier for you than it is for me, Jane,” Thor confessed, solemnly, saddened. “For I am used to there being few things I cannot change by my own hands.”

A small smile came to Jane’s face, as encouraging as it was endeared, and without any clue what to say she stroked the side of his face. Thor gave another rumbling unhappy sigh, and he leaned in for a kiss.

Their lips had just met when the grand doors to the hallway swung open, and the two of them pulled their faces apart in a startled, disoriented whirl to look up.

“Geeze,” a rather familiar voice called out to them, “we’ve been gone for like a month and you two still haven’t found enough time to play kissy-face and get it out of your system?”

A beaming Darcy strode in, the pack of Asgardians spread out behind her with similarly eager expressions.

“Darcy?” Jane questioned in disbelief, fighting off the urge to rub her eyes and blink. It was as if they’d been summoned back through her and Thor talking about them. “You’re…here. Oh my _god_.” She trailed off in a laugh as she broke out in a grin, astonished but relieved.

“It’s nice to see you guys again too.” Darcy smirked, but there did seem to be some genuine feeling at their reunion. “Did you miss us?”

“Darcy? _Darcy_.” Thor snapped out of his daze, breaking into an enthused roar. “Brother! Friends! You have returned to us!”

He rushed at them, picking Darcy up first in a squeeze, pausing to gently set her back down, before moving with just as much energy to the rest. Laughing he embraced Fandral, then Sif, before he finally reached Loki and wrapped both arms around him tight, ducking to tuck his chin against his brother’s shoulder. Loki patted his back with a good-natured expression.

Spot had gotten to his spindly legs and cantered about all of them in a circle, bleating happily, tail wagging.

Jane took a few steps forward, arms already lifting towards Darcy for a hug, and then stopped as her brain finally caught up with what her eyes were seeing.

“What in the world are you wearing?” she demanded, flummoxed, as she looked her friend over from head to toe.

Darcy was dressed in leather boots, a brocaded jacket and other period attire, a tricorn hat atop her mussed hair, looking both grimy and tanned brown as a nut. There was a sword in a sheath on her belt and she was carrying a large burlap sack over one shoulder.

The others, Jane noticed, were also dressed in a similar fashion, and were carrying bags and chests as well.

Thor pulled back from the bear-hug he gave Loki, belatedly taking note of the group’s appearance. “And, what’s this?” he remarked, taking it all in stride much better than Jane. “It would seem you did indeed have quite the adventure.”

He met Loki’s eyes, chortling in both eagerness and curiosity. Loki smirked at his older brother.

“Rest assured, Thor, in time you will hear the full extent of the tale.”

“Yup,” Darcy chimed in. She hefted the sack a bit and looked especially pleased with herself. “We were totally pirates.” She looked to Jane. “Took to the high seas for adventure and everything. Even had a ship. _I_ got to be captain.”

Jane stared at her. “Get out,” she stared, voice flat with sheer incredulity.

“Nope!” Darcy dropped the sack and a small wave of ancient-looking gold coins spilled out. Jane’s mouth hung open. “Add that to my awesome list of fantasy turned reality. Pet unicorn, and captain of a pirate ship. I can’t wait to tell my mom.” She grinned. “Hey, want to see my wanted poster?”

“It is a decent likeness,” Hogun offered.

“At least _hers_ was decent,” Fandral said, grousing. “Whoever their artisan was he captured me all wrong. My nose was drawn _completely_ incorrectly.”

“Funny, I thought the likeness perfect.” Loki made the cheeky remark offhand, turning back to his brother without pause. “We should summon Father at once. We have much to present to him.”

“Right,” Volstagg chimed in, booming. “It’s not every day you bring home a legendary treasure!”

His gaze drifted to one side, eyes bright and smile softening – both Jane and Thor did a double-take when they realized there was a woman standing there that neither of them recognized. “Though some treasures of a different sort may be the infinitely more valuable.”

The woman, auburn-haired and slender, smiled back at him. Volstagg picked up her one hand to kiss the back of it.

“Yeah,” Darcy interjected, for Thor and Jane’s benefit. “So, we all got an adventure, most of us got treasure, I got a pirate ship, and Volstagg got married.”

Thor looked like something inside his head had just exploded. _“What?”_

Loki cringed. “So blunt,” he complained. “You have no sense of narrative, or drama.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s good to skip ahead with the cliff notes.”

While Loki stood there sighing, Thor stammered and demanded his friends explain things to him, Hogun and Sif and Fandral all attempted to talk at once, and Volstagg carried on kissing the woman who was apparently his wife.

Jane reached over and grabbed Darcy by the shoulders.

Forcibly she turned her friend around to face her. “Start talking,” Jane demanded. “And,” she interrupted as Darcy’s lips started to part, “I would appreciate it if you could do it with the bare minimum of ‘ _arrgh_ ’s and ‘ _yaar matey_ ’s.”

“Come on.” Darcy rolled her eyes again. “Of course not! That’s not how us real pirates talk at all.”


End file.
